VICTORIAN    POETS 


-VICTORIAN 


POETS, 


BY 


EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN 


UNJVEUS1TY   OF 

CAL1FO11NIA. 


BOSTON 

JAMES    R.    OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY 

LATE  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  Co. 
1876 


COPYRIGHT,  1875. 
BY  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  CO. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


TO 


GEORGE    RIPLEY,  LL.D., 

WHOSE  JUDGMENT,   LEARNING,  AND   PROFESSIONAL  DEVOTION 
HAVE   CONTRIBUTED  TO   THE 

ADVANCEMENT  OF  CRITICISM, 

AND  FURNISHED  AN   ENVIABLE  EXAMPLE  TO  MEN 
OF   LETTERS, 


t#  IBolume  ig 


PREFACE. 


THE    contents   of    this    volume   chiefly   relate   to    the 
design  announced  at  the  beginning  of  the   introduc 
tory  chapter,  but  I  will  prefix  a  brief  statement  of  its  scope, 
and  of  the  principles  that  underlie  its  judgment 

Although  presented  as  a  book  of  literary  and  biograph 
ical  criticism,  it  also  may  be  termed  an  historical  review 
of  the  course  of  British  poetry  during  the  present  reign,  — 
if  not  a  minute,  at  least  a  compact  and  logical,  survey  of 
the  authors  and  works  that  mainly  demand  attention. 
Having  made  a  study  of  the  poets  who  rank  as  leaders  of 
the  recent  British  choir,  a  sense  of  proportion  induced 
me  to  enlarge  the  result,  and  to  use  it  as  the  basis  of 
a  guide-book  to  the  metrical  literature  of  the  time  and 
country  in  which  those  poets  have  flourished.  It  seemed 
to  me  that,  by  including  a  sketch  of  minor  groups  and 
schools,  and  giving  a  connection  to  the  whole,  I  might 
offer  a  work  that  would  have  practical  value  for  uses  of 
record  and  reference,  in  addition  to  whatever  qualities,  as 
an  essay  in  philosophical  criticism,  it  should  be  found  to 
possess. 


PREFACE. 


To  this  end  Chapters  VII.  and  VIII.  were  written ;  side- 
notes  have  been  affixed  throughout  the  volume,  and  an 
analytical  index  prepared  of  the  whole.  There  is  much 
dispute  among  the  best  authorities  with  respect  to  literary 
and  biographical  dates,  and  a  few  matters  of  this  sort 
remain  open  to  doubt ;  but  in  many  instances,  where  the 
persons  concerned  are  still  living,  I  have  been  successful  in 
obtaining  the  requisite  information  at  first  hand. 

A  reference  to  the  notes  and  index  will  show  what  seems 
to  my  own  mind,  after  the  completion  of  these  essays,"  their 
most  conspicuous  feature.  So  many  and  various  qualities 
are  displayed  by  the  poets  under  review  that,  in  writing 
of  their  works  and  lives,  I  have  expressed  incidentally 
such  ideas  concerning  the  aim  and  constituents  of  Poetry 
as  I  have  gathered  during  my  acquaintance  with  the  his 
toric  body  of  English  verse.  Often,  moreover,  a  leading 
author  affords  an  illustration  of  some  special  phase  of  the 
poetic  art  and  life.  The  case  of  Browning,  for  example, 
at  once  excites  discussion  as  to  the  nature  of  poetic  expres 
sion  ;  that  of  Mrs.  Browning  involves  a  study  of  the  poetic 
temperament,  its  joys  and  sorrows,  its  growth,  ripeness, 
and  decline.  Hood's  life  was  that  of  a  working  man  of 
letters ;  in  Tennyson's  productions  we  observe  every  aspect 
of  poetry  as  an  art,  and  the  best  average  representation  of 
the  modern  time  ;  while  Landor  not  only  affords  another 
study  of  temperament,  but  shows  the  benefits  and  dangers 
of  culture,  of  amateurship,  and  of  intellectual  versatility  as 
opposed  to  special  gift.  In  Arnold  we  find  a  passion  of  the 


PREFACE.  xi 


intellect,  in  Procter  the  pure  lyrical  faculty,  in  Buchanan 
the  force  and  weakness  of  transcendentalism,  in  Swinburne 
the  infinite  variety  of  melodious  numbers,  and  the  farthest 
extreme  of  rhythm  and  diction  reached  at  this  stage  of 
metrical  art.  Home,  Bailey,  Lytton,  Morris,  and  Rossetti 
are  each  suggestive  of  important  and  varying  elements 
which  make  up  the  general  quality  of  recent  imaginative 
song.  The  different  forms  of  poetry  —  reflective,  idyllic, 
lyric,  and  dramatic  —  successively  or  in  combination  pass 
under  review,  for  the  modern  era  has  been  no  less  com 
posite  than  refined.  If  not  so  eminent  for  poetic  vigor 
as  the  impetuous  Georgian  revival  which  preceded  it,  nor 
characterized  by  dramatic  greatness  like  that  of  the  early 
and  renowned  Elizabethan  age,  it  is  in  its  own  way  as 
remarkable  as  either  of  those  historic  times,  and  on  the 
score  of  complex  and  technical  achievement  full  of  real 
significance  to  the  lyric  artist  and  the  connoisseur. 

In  pursuing  the  general  subject  by  an  examination  of 
the  foremost  poets,  I  have  tried  to  convey  a  just  idea  of 
the  career  and  genius  of  each,  so  that  any  portrait,  taken 
by  itself,  might  seem  complete,  and  distinct  from  its  fellows. 
In  certain  cases  we  are  required  to  observe  temperament,  — 
in  others,  extended  lyrical  achievements  or  unusual  traits 
of  voice  and  execution.  If  my  criticism  seems  more  tech 
nical  than  is  usual  in  a  work  of  this  kind,  it  is  due,  I  think, 
to  the  fact  that  the  technical  refinement  of  the  period  has 
been  so  marked  as  to  demand  full  recognition  and  analysis 
It  is  seldom  that  an  earnest  reviewer,  whether  lay  or 


xn  PREFACE. 


professional,  can  escape  wholly  the  charge  of  dogmatism. 
Doubtless  every  reader  will  discover  points  that  neither 
accord  with  his  judgment,  nor  seem  to  him  fairly  taken ; 
yet  I  trust  that  there  will  be  few  who  will  not  elsewhere 
find  reason  to  consider  my  work  something  better  than 
labor  thrown  away.  After  all,  a  critic  speaks  only  for 
himself,  and  his  opinion  must  be  taken  for  what  it  is 
worth,  — •  as  being  always  open  to  the  broader  criticism  of 
those  to  whom  it  is  submitted. 

The  chapter  on  the  relations  of  Tennyson  and  Theocritus, 
though  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  an  excursus,  relates  to 
a  matter  which  seems  to  me  of  more  significance  than  the 
obligations  of  the  modern  idyllist  to  the  ancient,  —  namely, 
the  singular  likeness  of  the  Victorian  period  to  the  Alex 
andrian,  manifest  in  both  external  conditions  and  poetic 
results. 

Let  me  now  say  that  this  book  is  not  the  fulfilment  of  a 
deliberate  plan,  but  that  a  peculiar  train  of  thought  and 
incident  has  led  to  its  completion.  There  are  times  when 
a  writer  pauses  to  consider  the  work  produced  by  his  asso 
ciates,  and  the  influences  by  which  this  has  been  enlarged 
or  injured.  Reviewing  the  course  of  American  poetry, 
since  it  may  be  said  to  have  had  a  pathway  of  its  own, 
I  have  tried  to  note  the  special  restrictions  and  special 
advantages  by  which  it  has  been  affected.  Our  men  of 
true  poetic  genius,  although  they  have  produced  charming 
verse  of  an  emotional,  lyrical,  or  descriptive  kind,  have 
seemed  indisposed  or  unable  to  compose  many  sustained 


PREFACE.  xni 


and  important  works.  At  first  I  designed  to  write  of  the 
difficulties  which  they  have  experienced,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  —  some  of  these  pertaining  to  the  youth  of 
the  country,  and  to  the  fact  that,  as  in  the  growth  of  a 
sister-art,  landscape-painting  usually  must  precede  the  rise 
of  a  true  figure-school.  I  might  touch  upon  the  lack  of 
inspiring  theme  and  historic  halo,  of  dramatic  contrast 
and  material,  and  of  a  public  that  can  appreciate  the 
structure,  no  less  than  the  sweetness  and  quality,  of  a  noble 
poem.  With  various  exceptions,  there  has  been  a  want 
of  just  criticism  ;  and  even  now  a  defect  with  many  of 
the  poets  themselves  is  a  cloudy  understanding  of  their 
true  mission  and  of  what  poetry  really  is.  Beyond  the 
charm  of  freshness,  no  great  success  in  verse  is  attainable 
without  that  judicial  knowledge  of  the  poet's  art  which 
is  the  equivalent  of  what  is  indispensable  to  the  painter, 
the  sculptor,  and  the  musician,  in  their  respective  depart 
ments. 

But  with  regard  to  the  causes  of  the  success  and  failure 
of  our  own  poets  I  easily  perceived  that  some  of  the  most 
important  were  not  special,  but  general :  belonging  to  the 
period,  and  equally  affecting  the  verse  of  the  motherland. 
This  led  me  to  make  a  study  of  a  few  British  poets  :  first 
of  one,  Landor,  whose  metrical  work  did  not  seem,  upon 
the  whole,  a  full  expression  of  his  unusual  genius  ;  then 
of  others,  notably  Tennyson,  who  more  obviously  represent 
the  diverse  elements  of  their  time.  In  order  to  formulate 
my  own  ideas  of  poetry  and  criticism,  it  seemed  to  me 


xiv  PREFACE. 


that  I  could  more  freely  and  graciously  begin  by  choosing 
a  foreign  paradigm  than  by  entering  upon  the  home-field, 
and  that  none  could  be  so  good  for  this  purpose  as  the 
poetry  of  Great  Britain,  —  there  being  none  so  compre 
hensive,  and  none  with  which  myself  and  my  readers  are 
more  familiar.  Affection,  reverence,  national  feeling,  or 
some  less  worthy  emotion,  may  be  thought  to  prevent 
an  American  from  writing  without  prejudice  of  Bryant, 
Longfellow,  Whittier,  Lowell,  and  the  rest ;  doubtless  there 
are  considerations  which  sometimes  render  British  journal 
ists  disinclined  to  review  Tennyson  and  Browning  with 
that  indifferent  spirit  which  characterizes  their  judgment 
of  eminent  American  poets.  Lastly,  upon  a  survey  of  the 
last  forty  years,  I  saw  that  what  I  term  the  Victorian 
period  is  nearly  at  an  end,  and  that  no  consecutive  and 
synthetic  examination  of  its  schools  and  leaders  had  yet 
been  made.  This  led  me  to  go  on  and  to  complete  the 
present  work. 

It  follows  that  these  essays  are  not  written  upon  a 
theory.  The  author  has  no  theory  of  poetry,  and  no  par 
ticular  school  to  uphold.  I  favor  a  generous  eclecticism, 
or  universalism,  in  Art,  enjoying  what  is  good,  and  believ 
ing  that,  as  in  Nature,  the  question  is  not  whether  this 
or  that  kind  be  the  more  excellent,  but  whether  a  work 
is  excellent  of  its  kind.  Certain  qualities,  however,  distin 
guish  what  is  fine  and  lasting.  The  principles  upon  which 
I  rely  may  be  out  of  fashion  just  now,  and  not  readily 
accepted.  They  are  founded,  nevertheless,  in  the  Miltonic 


PREFACE.  xv 


canon  of  poetry,  from  which  simplicity  no  more  can  be 
excluded  than  sensuousness  and  passion.  The  spirit  of 
criticism  is  intellectual ;  that  of  poetry  (although  our  curi 
ously  reasoning  generation  often  has  forgotten  it)  is  nor 
mally  the  offspring  of  emotion, — secondly,  it  may  be,  of 
thought.  I  find  that  the  qualities  upon  which  I  have 
laid  most  stress,  and  which  at  once  have  opened  the  way 
to  commendation,  are  simplicity  and  freshness,  in  work 
of  all  kinds  ;  and,  as  the  basis  of  persistent  growth,  and 
of  greatness  in  a  masterpiece,  simplicity  and  spontaneity, 
refined  by  art,  exalted  by  imagination,  and  sustained  by 
intellectual  power.  Simplicity  does  not  imply  poverty  of 
thought,  —  there  is  a  strong  simplicity  belonging  to  an 
intellectual  age  ;  a  clearness  of  thought  and  diction,  nat 
ural  to  true  poets,  —  whose  genius  is  apt  to  be  in  direct 
ratio  with  their  possession  of  this  faculty,  and  inversely  as 
their  tendency  to  cloudiness,  confusion  of  imagery,  obscu 
rity,  or  "hardness"  of  style.  It  may  almost  be  said  that 
everything  really  great  is  marked  by  simplicity.  The 
poet's  office  is  to  reveal  plainly  the  most  delicate  phases 
of  wisdom,  passion,  and  beauty.  Even  in  the  world  of 
the  ideal  we  must  have  clear  imagination  and  language : 
the  more  life-like  the  dream,  the  longer  it  will  be  remem 
bered. 

The  traits,  therefore,  which  I  have  deprecated  earnestly 
are  in  the  first  place  obscurity  and  hardness,  and  these 
either  natural,  —  implying  defective  voice  and  insight,  or 
affected,  —  implying  conceit  and  poor  judgment;  and  sec- 


xvi  PREFACE. 


ondly  that  excess  of  elaborate  ornament,  which  places 
decoration  above  construction,  until  the  sense  of  origi 
nality  is  lost  —  if,  indeed,  it  ever  has  existed.  Both  ob 
scurity  and  super-ornamentation  are  used  insensibly  to 
disguise  the  lack  of  imagination,  just  as  a  weak  and 
florid  singer  hides  with  trills  and  flourishes  his  inability 
to  strike  a  simple,  pure  note,  or  to  change  without  a  slid 
ing  scale. 

But  among  true  poets  of  the  recent  schools  some  have 
gone  to  the  other  extreme,  putting  the  thought  too  far 
above  the  art,  and  have  neglected  melody  and  finish  alto 
gether,  as  if  despising  accomplishments  now  so  widely 
diffused.  This  also  is  a  fault  common  in  an  advanced 
period,  especially  in  one  eminent  for  speculative  and  meta 
physical  research.  I  have  not  overlooked  this  heresy, 
although  steadfastly  opposing  meretricious  efforts  to  attract 
notice  by  grotesque,  fantastic,  and  other  artificial  means. 
If  such  methods  prevail  in  an  over-ripe  country  they  should 
not  in  our  own,  and  I  point  to  them  as  errors  which 
American  poetry,  as  it  gathers  strength,  should  be  able 
easily  to  avoid.  And  thus  seeing  how  poorly  charlatanism 
and  effrontery  can  make  up  for  patient,  humble  endeavor 
and  experience  in  art,  we  must  discern  and  revere,  on  the 
other  hand,  those  gifts  of  inspiration  which  endow  the 
born  poet,  and  without  which  no  amount  of  toil  and  learn 
ing  can  insure  the  favor  of  the  Muses.  As  to  the  latter 
requirements,  the  instinct  of  the  world,  that  would  not 
recognize  Bulwer  and  still  pays  tribute  to  Burns,  is  almost 


PREFACE.  xvii 


unerring ;  as  to  the  former,  it  often  is  for  a  while  deceived  ; 
so  I  have  found  occasion  to  write  of  dilettanteism,  lack  of 
apprenticeship,  and  of  the  assumption  of  those  who  would 
clutch  the  laurel  "  with  a  single  bound."  Finally,  the  intel 
lectual  activity  of  our  time  constantly  demands  a  reviewer's 
notice  ;  and  passion,  rare  in  an  idyllic  period,  must  be 
sought  out  and  welcomed  at  every  visible  turn. 

The  spirit  of  the  following  chapters  has  now  been  in 
dicated.  I  have  made  few  quotations,  depending  on  the 
reader's  means  of  acquaintance  with  the  poetry  of  his 
time.  In  treating  the  abstract  portion  of  my  subject, 
where  some  generalization  has  seemed  requisite,  I  have 
tried  to  state  my  meaning  in  brief  and  open  terms.  Much 
originality  is  not  claimed  for  either  manner  or  thought. 
My  effort  simply  has  been  to  illustrate,  through  analysis 
of  the  careers  of  various  poets,  what  already  is  widely 
understood  among  philosophical  critics.  No  single  sketch 
has  been  colored  to  suit  the  author's  ideas,  but  each  poet 
has  been  judged  upon  his  own  merits ;  yet  I  think  the 
general  effect  to  be  as  stated. 

I  trust  that  it  may  not  prove  a  wholly  thankless  office, 
since  it  certainly  is  not  one  frequently  undertaken,  to  write 
a  purely  critical  volume,  exclusively  devoted  to  the  litera 
ture  of  another  land.  Criticism,  like  science,  latterly  has 
found  a  more  interested  public  than  of  old.  The  catholic 
reviewer  will  not  shut  his  eyes  to  the  value  of  new  modes, 
but  even  that  conventional  criticism,  which  holds  to  ac 
cepted  canons,  has  its  use  as  a  counterpoise  to  license 


xviii  PREFA  CE. 


and  bewilderment.  As  to  the  choice  of  field:  —  while  I 
would  not  reassert  in  behalf  of  any  verdict,  least  of  all  in 
behalf  of  my  own,  that  "  a  foreign  nation  is  a  kind  cf  con 
temporaneous  posterity,"  it  yet  may  be  true  that  from 
this  distance  a  reviewer  can  advantageously  observe  the 
general  aspect  of  British  poetry,  whatever  minor  details 
may  escape  his  eye. 

In  concluding  this  work,  I  wish  to  acknowledge  my 
obligations  to  friends  who  have  assisted  me  in  its  revis 
ion  : —  to  Professor  Roswell  D.  Hitchcock,  D.  D.,  for  val 
uable  hints  concerning  recent  hymnology ;  to  Mr.  Richard 
H.  Stoddard,  for  access  to  his  choice  collection  of  English 

o 

verse ;  to  Messrs.  William  J.  Linton  and  George  P.  Philes, 
for  important  data  relating  to  the  recent  minor  poets ; 
and  especially  to  Mr.  Robert  U.  Johnson,  of  New  York, 
and  Mr.  Henry  H.  Clark,  of  Cambridge,  for  careful  and 
unstinted  aid,  at  a  time  when,  from  prolonged  illness,  it 
was  impossible  for  me  to  verify  the  statistical  portion  of 
my  volume,  or  even  to  revise  the  proof-sheets  as  they 
came  from  the  press. 

E.    C.    S. 

NEW  YORK,  July,  1875. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I.  PAGE 

THE  PERIOD      .       .       .       .       .    "  .       .       .       .       .       .        .        I 

CHAPTER    II. 
WALTER  SAVAGE  LAN  DOR       .........      33 

CHAPTER    III. 
THOMAS  HOOD.  —  MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  —  BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER  .      72 

CHAPTER    IV. 
ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING     .       .       ......    u4 

CHAPTER    V. 
ALFRED  TENNYSON  .... 


CHAPTER    VI. 

TENNYSON  AND  THEOCRITUS  .       .       .       .       .  .       ,        .201 

CHAPTER    VII. 
THE  GENERAL  CHOIR      ...       .       .       .....    234 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
THE  SUBJECT  CONTINUED        ......  252 


xx  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
ROBERT  BROWNING          . 293 

CHAPTER    X. 
LATTER-DAY  SINGERS  : 

ROBERT  BUCHANAN.  —  DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTL  —  WILLIAM 
MORRIS        .     ' •;   '   .       .      '.    /. .•> 342 

CHAPTER    XI. 
LATTER-DAY  SINGERS  : 

ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE 379 


INDEX 415 


VICTORIAN    POETS. 

The  subjoined  list  comprises  those  poets  and  translators  designated  in  the  following  pages  as 
belonging  to  the  period  under  review. 

TIME:  1835-1875. 
(Accession  of  Her  Majesty,  June  20,  1837.) 


ADAMS,  SARAH  FLOWER, 

AIRD,  THOMAS, 

ALFORD,  HENRY, 

ALLINGHAM,  WILLIAM, 

ARNOLD,  EDWIN, 

ARNOLD,  MATTHEW, 

ASHE,  THOMAS, 

AYTOUN,    WILLIAM     EDMOND- 

STOUNE. 

BAILEY,  PHILIP  JAMES, 
BALLANTINE,  JAMES, 
BANIM,  JOHN, 

BARHAM,  RICHARD  HARRIS, 
BARING-GOULD,  SABINE, 
BARNES,  WILLIAM, 
BEDDOES,  THOMAS  LOVELL, 
BENNETT,  WILLIAM  Cox, 

BlCKERSTETH,  EDWARD   HENRY, 

BLACKIE,  JOHN  STUART, 

BONAR,    HORATIUS, 

BOTHWICK,  JANE, 
BOWRING,  SIR  JOHN, 
BRONTE  SISTERS, 
BROWNING,    ELIZABETH     BAR 
RETT, 


BROWNING,  ROBERT, 
BUCHANAN,  ROBERT, 
BURBIDGE,  THOMAS. 

CALVERLEY,  CHARLES  STUART, 

CASWALL,  EDWARD, 

CHANDLER,  JOHN, 

CLOUGH,  ARTHUR  HUGH, 

COLERIDGE,  HARTLEY, 

COOK,  ELIZA, 

COOPER,  THOMAS, 

Cox,  FRANCES  ELIZABETH, 

CRAIG,  ISA, 

CRAIK,  DINAH  MARIA  MULOCK. 

DARLEY,  GEORGE, 

DAVIS,  THOMAS, 

DERBY,  EDWARD,  LORD, 

DE  VERE,  AUBREY, 

DOBELL,  SYDNEY, 

DOBSON,  AUSTIN, 

DOMETT,  ALFRED, 

DOWNING,  MARY, 

DOYLE,  SIR  FRANCIS  HASTINGS, 

DUFFERIN,  COUNTESS  OF, 

DUFFY,  CHARLES  GAVAN. 


XX11 


VICTORIAN  POETS. 


ELLIOTT,  CHARLOTTE, 
EVANS,  SEBASTIAN. 

FABER,  FREDERICK  WILLIAM, 
FlNDLATER,  ERIC  BOTHWICK, 
FITZGERALD,  EDWARD, 
FITZ-GERALD,  MAURICE  PURCELL. 

GILFILLAN,  ROBERT, 
GRAY,  DAVID, 
GRIFFIN,  GERALD. 

HAKE,  THOMAS  GORDON, 

HAMERTON,  PHILIP  GILBERT, 

HAWTREY,  EDWARD  CRAVEN, 

HERVEY,  THOMAS  KIBBLE, 

HOOD,  THOMAS, 

HORNE,  RICHARD  HENGIST, 

HOWITT,  MARY, 

Ho  WITT,  WILLIAM, 

HUNT,  JAMES  HENRY  LEIGH. 

INGELOW,  JEAN, 
INGRAM,  JOHN  KELLS. 

JONES,  EBENEZER, 
JONES,  ERNEST. 

KEEGAN,  JOHN, 
KINGSLEY,  CHARLES. 

LANDOR,  WALTER  SAVAGE, 
LEWES,  MARIAN  EVANS, 
LINTON,  WILLIAM  JAMES, 
LOCKER,  FREDERICK, 
LOVER,  SAMUEL, 
LYTTON,  EDWARD,  LORD, 
LYTTON,  ROBERT,  LORD. 


MACAULAY,  THOMAS  BABINGTON, 
MACCARTHY,  DENIS  FLORENCE, 
MACDONALD,  GEORGE, 
MACKAY,  CHARLES, 
MACLAGAN,  ALEXANDER, 
MAGNUSSON,  EIR!KR, 
MAHONEY,  FRANCIS, 
MANGAN,  JAMES  CLARENCE, 
MARSTON,  JOHN  WESTLAND, 
MARSTON,  PHILIP  BOURKE, 
MARTIN,  THEODORE, 
MARZIALS,  THEOPHILE, 
MASSEY,  GERALD, 
MASSIE,  EDWARD, 
McGEE,  THOMAS  D'ARCY, 
MEREDITH,  GEORGE, 
MILLER,  THOMAS, 
MILNES,    RICHARD    MONCKTON, 

LORD  HOUGHTON, 
MITFORD,  JOHN, 
MONTGOMERY,  ROBERT, 
MORRIS,  WILLIAM, 
MYERS,  FREDERIC  W.  H. 

NEALE,  JOHN  MASON, 
NEWMAN,  FRANCIS  WILLIAM, 
NEWMAN,  JOHN  HENRY, 
NICHOL,  JOHN, 
NICOLL,  ROBERT, 
NOEL,  RODEN. 

O'SHAUGHNESSY,  ARTHUR  W.  E. 

PALGRAVE,  FRANCIS  TURNER, 
PATMORE,  COVENTRY, 
PAYNE,  JOHN, 

PLUMPTRE,  EDWARD  HAYES, 
PRAED,  WINTHROP  MACKWORTH, 


VICTORIAN  POETS. 


xxni 


PROCTER,  ADELAIDE  ANNE, 
PROCTER,  BRYAN  WALLER. 

ROSSETTI,  CHRISTINA  GEORGINA, 
ROSSETTI,  DANTE  GABRIEL. 

SCOTT,  WILLIAM  BELL, 
SHAIRP,  JOHN  CAMPBELL, 
SIMMONS,  BARTHOLOMEW, 
SIMCOX,  GEORGE  AUGUSTUS, 
SMITH,  ALEXANDER, 
STANLEY,  ARTHUR  PENHRYN, 
STERLING,  JOHN, 
SWAIN,  CHARLES, 
SWANWICK,  ANNA, 
SWINBURNE,  ALGERNON  CHARLES. 

TAYLOR,  SIR  HENRY, 
TENNYSON,  ALFRED, 
TENNYSON,  FREDERICK, 
THACKERAY,    WILLIAM     MAKE 
PEACE, 


THOM,  WILLIAM, 
THORNBURY,  WALTER, 
TRENCH,  RICHARD  CHENEVIX, 
TUPPER,  MARTIN  FARQUHAR, 
TURNER,  CHARLES  (TENNYSON). 

VARIAN,  MRS. 

WADE,  THOMAS, 
WALLER,  JOHN  FRANCIS, 
WARREN,  JOHN  LEICESTER, 
WAUGH,  EDWIN, 
WEBSTER,  AUGUSTA, 
WESTWOOD,  THOMAS, 
WILDE,  MRS.  W.  R., 
WINKWORTH,  CAROLINE, 
WOOLNER,  THOMAS, 
WORDSWORTH,  CHRISTOPHER, 
WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM, 
WORSLEY,  PHILIP  STANHOPE, 
WRIGHT,  ICHABOD  CHARLES. 


VICTORIAN    POETS. 


0 


VICTORIAN   POETS. 


CHAPTER    I. 


THE   PERIOD. 
I. 

THE  main  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  examine  the 
lives  and  productions  of  such  British  poets  as 
have  gained  reputation  within  the  last  forty  years. 
Incidentally,  I  hope  to  derive  from  the  body  of  their 
verse,  —  so  various  in  form  and  thought,  —  and  from 
the  record  of  their  different  experiences,  correct  ideas 
in  respect  to  the  aim  and  province  of  the  art  of  Poetry, 
and  not  a  few  striking  illustrations  of  the  poetic  life. 

In  reviewing  the  works  and  careers  of  these  singers, 
especially  of  the  large  number  that  may  be  classed  as 
minor  poets,  we  naturally  shall  be  reminded  of  a  pro 
cess  to  which  M.  Taine  has  made  emphatic  reference 
in  a  history  of  previous  English  literature,  and  in  his 
analysis  of  the  one  poet  selected  by  him  to1  represent 
the  quality  of  recent  song.  This  process  is  the  insen 
sible  moulding  of  an  author's  life,  genius,  manner  of 
expression,  by  the  conditions  of  race,  circumstance,  and 
period,  in  which  he  is  seen  to  be  involved. 

But  on  the  other  hand,  and  chiefly  in  our  recognition 
of  the  few  master-spirits  whose  names,  by  common  and 
just  agreement,  hold  the  first  places  upon  the  list  under 
review,  we  shall  observe  with  equal  certainty  that  great 

I  A 


Design  of 
the  present 
•work. 


Taine 's  the 
ory:  that  an 
author  is 
governed  by 
his  period. 


Genius, 
however,  is 
largely  in 
dependent  of 
place  or" 
time. 


THE  PERIOD. 


Illustration 
eftheformer 


and  of  the 
exceptions 
which  con 
firm  and 
modify  it. 


poets  overcome  all  restrictions,  create  their  own  styles, 
and  even  may  determine  the  lyrical  character  of  a 
period,  or  indicate  that  of  one  which  is  to  succeed 
them. 

Among  authors  of  less  repute  we  therefore  shall  find 
more  ;thaji  ;one  rare  and  attractive  poet  hampered  by 
lack'o'f  fortune  and  opportunity,  or  by  a  failure  to  har- 
Ihis^gemus  with  the  spirit  of  his  time.  For  ex- 
-ampl'e,* "s'e'vefar  persons  having  the  true  dramatic  feeling 
arose,  but  cannot  be  said  to  have  flourished,  during  or 
just  before  the  early  portion  of  the  era,  and  were  over 
borne  by  the  reflective,  idyllic  fashion  which  then  began 
to  prevail  in  English  verse.  These  isolated  singers  — 
Taylor,  Barley,  Beddoes,  Home,  and  others  like  them 
—  never  exhibited  the  full  measure  of  their  natural  gifts. 
The  time  was  out  of  keeping;  and  why?  Because  it 
followed  the  lead,  and  listened  to  the  more  courageous 
voices  of  still  greater  poets,  who  introduced  and  kept  in 
vogue  a  mode  of  feeling  and  expression  to  which  the 
dramatic  method  is  wholly  antagonistic.  These  suc 
cessful  leaders,  no  less  sensitive  than  their  rivals  to 
the  feeble  and  affected  mood  which  poetry  then  had 
assumed,  and  equally  familiar  with  the  choicest  models 
of  every  age  and  literature,  were  more  wise  in  select 
ing  the  ground  upon  which  the  expression  of  their 
own  genius  and  the  tendencies  of  the  period  could  be 
brought  together.  They  persisted  in  their  art,  gathered 
new  audiences,  and  fulfilled  the  mission  for  which  they 
were  endowed  with  voice,  imagination,  and  the  poet's 
creative  desire.  This  surer  instinct,  this  energy  and 
success,  this  utterance  lifted  above  opposing  voices, 
are  what  have  distinguished  poets  like  Tennyson,  the 
Brownings,  Rossetti,  Swinburne,  from  less  fortunate 
aspirants  whose  memory  is  cherished  tenderly  by  our 


CULTURE  AND  SPONTANEITY. 


united  guild,  but  who  failed  to  reach  the  popular  heart 
or  to  make '  a  significant  impression  upon  the  literature 
of  their  own  time. 

It  is  an  open  question,  however,  whether  a  poet  need 
be  conscious  of  the  existence  and  bearing  of  the  laws 
and  conditions  under  which  he  produces  his  work.  It 
may  be  a  curb  and  detriment  to  his  genius  that  he 
should  trouble  himself  about  them  in  the  least.  But 
this  rests  upon  the  character  of  his  intellect  and 
includes  a  further  question  of  the  effects  of  culture. 
Just  here  there  is  a  difference  between  poetry  and  the 
cognate  arts  of  expression,  since  the  former  has  some 
what  less  to  do  with  material  processes  and  effects. 
The  freedom  of  the  minor  sculptor's,  painter's,  or  com 
poser's  genius  is  not  checked,  while  its  scope  and  pre 
cision  are  increased,  by  knowledge  of  the  rules  of  his 
calling,  and  of  their  application  in  different  regions  and 
times.  But  in  the  case  of  the  minor  poet,  excessive 
culture,  and  wide  acquaintance  with  methods  and  mas 
terpieces,  often  destroy  spontaneity.  They  shut  in  the 
voice  upon  itself,  and  overpower  and  bewilder  the 
singer,  who  forgets  to  utter  his  native,  characteris 
tic  melody,  awed  by  the  chorus  and  symphony  of  the 
world's  great  songs.  Full-throated,  happy  minstrels,  like 
Beranger  or  Burns,  need  no  knowledge  of  thorough 
bass  and  the  historical  range  of  composition.  Their 
expression  is  the  carol  of  the  child,  the  warble  of  the 
skylark  scattering  music  at  his  own  sweet  will.  Never 
theless,  there  is  no  strong  imagination  without  vigorous 
intellect,  and  to  its  penetrative  and  reasoning  faculty 
there  comes  a  time  when  the  laws  which  it  has  instinc 
tively  followed  must  be  apparent ;  and,  later  still,  it 
cannot  blind  itself  to  the  favoring  or  adverse  in 
fluences  of  period  and  place.  Should  these  forces  be 


Diverse  ef 
fects  of  cul 
ture  upon 
spontaneity. 


THE   PERIOD. 


The  critic's 
province. 


Aspects  of 
the  time  un 
der  review. 


restrictive,  their  baffling  effect  will  teach  the  poet  to 
recognize  and  deplore  them,  and  to  endeavor,  though 
with  wind  and  tide  against  him,  to  make  his  progress 
noble  and  enduring. 

In  regard  to  the  province  of  the  critic  there  can, 
however,  be  no  question.  It  is  at  once  seen  to  be 
twofold.  He  must  recognize  and  broadly  observe  the 
local,  temporal,  and  generic  conditions  under  which 
poetry  is  composed,  or  fail  to  render  adequate  judg 
ment  upon  the  genius  of  the  composer.  Yet  there 
always  are  cases  in  which  poetry  fairly  rises  above  the 
idealism  of  its  day.  The  philosophical  critic,  then,  in 
estimating  the  importance  of  an  epoch,  also  must  pay 
full  consideration  to  the  messages  that  it  has  received 
from  poets  of  the  higher  rank,  and  must  take  into 
account  the  sovereign  nature  of  a  gift  so  independent 
and  spontaneous  that  from  ancient  times  men  have 
united  in  looking  upon  it  as  a  form  of  inspiration. 

As  we  trace  the  course  of  British  poetry,  —  from  a 
point  somewhat  earlier  than  the  beginning  of  the  pres 
ent  reign,  down  to  the  close  of  the  third  quarter  of 
our  century,  —  we  observe  that  at  the  outset  of  this 
period  the  sentiment  of  the  Byronic  school  had  de 
generated  into  sentimentalism,  while  for  its  passion 
there  had  been  substituted  the  calm  of  reverie  and  in 
trospective  thought.  Two  kinds  of  verse  were  marked 
by  growing  excellence.  The  first  was  that  of  an  art- 
school,  taking  its  models  from  old  English  poetry  and 
from  the  delicate  classicism  of  Landor  and  Keats  ;  the 
second  was  of  a  didactic,  yet  elevated  nature,  and  had 
the  imaginative  strain  of  Wordsworth  for  its  loftiest 
exemplar.  We  see  these  two  combining  in  that  idyllic 
method  which,  upon  the  whole,  has  distinguished  the 
recent  time,  and  has  maintained  an  atmosphere  un- 


SUCCESSIVE  POETIC  PHASES. 


favorable  to  the  revival  of  high  passion  and  dramatic 
power.  Nevertheless,  and  lastly,  we  observe  that  a  new 
dramatic  and  lyric  school  has  arisen  under  this  adverse 
influence  and  brought  its  methods  into  vogue,  obtain 
ing  the  favor  of  a  new  generation,  and  therewith  round 
ing  to  completion  the  poetic  cycle  which  I  have  under 
taken  to  review. 

The  evolution  of  the  art-school,  partly  from  classicism, 
partly  from  a  renewal  of  early  and  natural  English  feel 
ing,  may  be  illustrated  by  a  study  of  the  life  and  relics 
of  Landor:  first,  because  Landor,  while  an  intellectual 
poet,  was  among  the  most  perfect  of  those  who  have 
excelled  in  the  expression  of  objective  beauty  ;  again, 
because,  although  contemporary  with  Keats,  his  career 
was  prolonged  into  the  second  half  of  our  era,  and 
thus  was  a  portion  of  its  origin,  progress,  and  matu 
rity.  Throughout  this  time,  as  in  other  eras,  various 
phases  of  metrical  art  have  been  displayed  by  authors 
who  have  maintained  their  independence  of  the  domi 
nant  mode.  Mrs.  Browning  wins  our  attention,  as  the 
first  of  woman-poets,  endowed  with  the  rarest  order  of 
that  subjective  faculty  which  is  the  special  attribute  of 
feminine  genius.  Hood,  Arnold,  and  Procter  may  be 
selected  as  prominent  representatives  of  the  several 
kinds  of  feeling  and  rhythmical  utterance  that  are  no 
ticeable  in  their  verse.  Elsewhere,  as  we  look  around, 
we  soon  begin  to  discover  the  influence  of  the  emi 
nent  founder  and  master  of  the  composite  school.  The 
method  of  Tennyson  may  be  termed  composite  or  idyl 
lic  :  the  former,  as  a  process  that  embraces  every 
variety  of  rhythm  and  technical  effect ;  the  latter,  as 
essentially  descriptive,  and  resorting  to  external  por 
traiture  instead  of  to  those  means  by  which  characters 
are  made  unconsciously  to  depict  themselves.  Other- 


Na-mes 
which  illus 
trate  succes 
sive  poetic 
phases. 


Outline  of  a 
proposed 
critical  sur 
vey. 


THE  PERIOD. 


The  con 
ditions  of 
the  period. 


wise,  it  is  suggestive  rather  than  plain-spoken,  and 
greatly  relies  upon  surrounding  accessories  for  the 
fuller  conveyance  of  its  subtle  thought.  After  some 
comparison  of  the  laureate  with  the  father  of  Greek 
idyllic  verse,  —  pointing  out,  meanwhile,  the  significant 
likeness  between  the  Alexandrian  and  Victorian  eras, 
—  I  shall  give  attention  to  a  number  of  those  minor 
poets,  from  whose  diverse  yet  blended  rays  we  can 
most  readily  derive  a  general  estimate  of  the  time  and 
its  poetic  tendency.  These  may  be  partially  assorted 
in  groups  depending  upon  specific  feeling  or  style  ; 
but  doubtless  many  single  lights  will  be  found  scat 
tered  between  such  constellations,  and  each  shining 
with  his  separate  lustre  and  position.  Finally,  in  re 
counting  the  growth  of  the  new  dramatic  and  ro 
mantic  schools,  under  the  leadership  of  Browning  and 
Rossetti,  we  shall  find  their  characteristics  united  in 
the  verse  of  Swinburne,  —  in  some  respects  the  most 
notable  of  the  poets  who  now,  in  the  prime  of  their 
creative  faculties,  strive  to  maintain  the  historic  beauty 
and  eminence  of  England's  song. 

Before  entering  upon  a  citation  of  the  poets  them 
selves,  I  wish  to  make  what  reference  may  be  needful 
to  the  conditions  of  the  period.  Let  us  see  wherein  it 
has  been  marked  by  transition,  how  far  it  has  been 
critical  and  didactic,  to  what  extent  poetical  and  crea 
tive.  A  moment's  reflection  will  convince  us  that  it 
has  witnessed  a  change  in  the  conditions  bearing  upon 
art,  as  important  and  radical  as  those  changes,  more 
quickly  recognized,  that  have  affected  the  whole  tone 
of  social  order  and  philosophic  thought.  Our  rhyth 
mical  expression  originated  in  phenomenal  language 
and  imagery,  an  inheritance  from  the  past ;  modern 
poetry  has  struggled  painfully,  even  heroically,  to  cast 


POETRY  AND  SCIENCE. 


this  off  and  adjust  itself  to  a  new  revelation  of  the 
truth  of  things.  The  struggle  is  not  yet  ended,  but  con 
tinues,  —  and  will  continue,  until  the  relations  between 
imagination  and  knowledge  shall  be  fairly  harmonized 
upon  a  basis  that  will  inure  to  the  common  glory  of 
these  twin  servitors  of  every  beautiful  art. 


II. 

IT  follows  that,  in  any  discussion  of  the  recent  era, 
the  scientific^  jnovement  which  has  engrossed  men's 
thoughts,  and  so  radically  affected  their  spiritual  and 
material  lives,  assumes  an  importance  equal  to  that  of 
all  other  forces  combined.  The  time  has  been  marked 
by  a  stress  of  scientific  iconoclasm.  Its  bearing  upon 
theology  was  long  since  perceived,  and  the  so-called 
conflict  of  Science  with  Religion  is  now  at  full  height. 
Its  bearing  upon  poetry,  through  antagonism  to  the 
traditional  basis  of  poetic  diction,  imagery,  and  thought, 
has  been  less  distinctly  stated.  The  stress  has  been 
vaguely  felt  by  the  poets  themselves,  but  they  are  not 
given  to  formulating  their  sensations  in  the  polemical 
manner  of  those  trained  logicians,  the  churchmen, — 
and  the  attitude  of  the  latter  has  so  occupied  our  re 
gard  that  few  have  paused  to  consider  the  real  cause 
of  the  technical  excellence  and  spiritual  barrenness 
common  in  the  modern  arts  of  letters  and  design. 
Yet  it  is  impossible,  when  we  once  set  about  it,  to 
look  over  the  field  of  late  English  verse,  and  not  to 
see  a  question  of  the  relations  between  Poetry  and 
Science  pressing  for  consideration  at  every  turn  and 
outpost. 

Scientific  iconoclasm  is  here  mentioned  simply  as  an 
existing  force  :  not  as  one  to  be  deplored,  for  I  have 


Modern 
iconoclasm. 


The  rela 
tions  be 
tween  Poetry 
and  Science. 


THE  PERIOD. 


No  inherent 
antagonism. 


A  n  early 
sonnet  by 
E.A.Poe. 


faith  that  it  will  in  the  end  lead  to  new  and  fairer 
manifestations  of  the  immortal  Muse.  However  irre 
pressible  the  conflict  between  accepted  theologies  and 
the  spirit  of  investigation,  however  numerous  the  tra 
ditions  of  faith  that  yield  to  the  advances  of  knowledge, 
there  is  no  such  inherent  antagonism  between  science 
and  poetry.  In  fact,  the  new  light  of  truth  is  no  more 
at  war  with  religious  aspiration  than  with  poetic  feel 
ing,  but  in  either  case  with  the  ancient  fables  and 
follies  of  expression  which  these  sentiments  respec 
tively  have  cherished.  A  sense  of  this  hostility  has 
oppressed,  I  say,  the  singers  clinging  to  forms  of 
beauty,  which  long  remain  the  dearest,  because  loved 
the  first.  Their  early  instinct  of  resistance  is  manifest 
in  the  following  sonnet  by  a  poet  who  saw  only  the 
beginning  of  the  new  dispensation :  — 

"  Science  !  true  daughter  of  old  Time  thou  art, 

Who  alterest  all  things  with  thy  peering  eyes. 
Why  preyest  thou  thus  upon  the  poet's  heart, 

Vulture,  whose  wings  are  dull  realities  ? 

How  should  he  love  thee  ?  or  how  deem  thee  wise, 
Who  wouldst  not  leave  him  in  his  wandering 

To  seek  for  treasure  in  the  jewelled  skies, 
Albeit  he  soared  with  an  undaunted  wing  ? 
Hast  thou  not  dragged  Diana  from  her  car, 

And  driven  the  Hamadryad  from  the  wood 
To  seek  a  shelter  in  some  happier  star  ? 

Hast  thou  not  torn  the  Naiad  from  her  flood, 
The  Elfin  from  the  green  grass,  and  from  me 
The  summer  dream  beneath  the  tamarind-tree  ?" 

Had  this  youth  lived  to  the  present  hour,  he  would 
begin,  I  think,  to  discern  that  Poetry  herself  is  strug 
gling  to  be  free  from  the  old  and  to  enter  upon  the 
new,  to  cast  off  a  weight  of  precedent  and  phenom 
enal  imagery  and  avail  herself  of  the  more  profound 


METHOD   OF  THE  POET. 


suggestion  and  more  resplendent  beauty  of  discovered 
truth  ;  and  he  would  not  forbid  her  to  light  the  flames 
of  her  imagination  at  the  torch  which  Science  carries 
with  a  strong  and  forward-beckoning  hand. 

While,  therefore,  there  can  be  no  irreconcilable  war 
fare  between  poetry  and  science,  we  discover  that  a 
temporary  struggle  is  under  way,  and  has  seriously 
embarrassed  the  poets  of  the  era.  Let  us  observe  the 
operation  of  this  contest,  or,  rather,  of  this  enforced 
transition  to  the  method  of  the  future. 

There  are  two  ways  of  regarding  natural  objects : 
first,  as  they  appear  to  the  bodily  eye  and  to  the 
normal,  untutored  imagination  ;  second,  as  we  know 
they  actually  are,  —  having  sought  out  the  truth  of 
their  phenomena,  the  laws  which  underlie  their  beauty 
or  repulsiveness.  The  former,  purely  empirical,  hith 
erto  has  been  the  simple  and  poetic  function  of  art; 
the  latter  is  that  of  reason,  scientifically  and  radically 
informed.  The  one  is  Homeric,  the  other  Baconian. 
Up  to  Coleridge's  time,  therefore,  his  definition  of 
poetry,  that  it  is  the  antithesis  of  science,  though  not 
complete,  was  true  as  far  as  it  extended.  Let  us  see 
how  the  ideals  of  an  imaginative,  primitive  race,  differ 
from  those  of  the  children  of  knowledge,  who  make 
up  our  later  generations. 

The  most  familiar  example  will  be  found  the  best. 
Look  at  the  antique  spirit  as  partially  revived  by  a 
painter  of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  Aurora  fresco 
in  the  Rospigliosi  palace  expresses  the  manner  in 
which  it  once  was  perfectly  natural  to  observe  the 
perpetual,  splendid  phenomena  of  breaking  day.  Sun 
rise  was  the  instant  presence  of  joyous,  effulgent  deity. 
A  pagan  saw  the  morning  as  Guido  has  painted  it. 
The  Sun-God  in  very  truth  was  urging  on  his  fiery- 


A  temporary 
conflict. 


The  poetic 
and  rational 
methods  ex 
amined  and 
compared. 


r.   The  po 
etic,  or  phe 
nomenal 
mode. 


10 


THE  PERIOD. 


The  antique 

spirit. 


The  medie 
val  spirit. 


footed  steeds.  The  clouds  were  his  pathway;  the 
early  morning  Hour  was  scattering  in  advance  flow 
ers  of  infinite  prismatic  hues,  and  her  blooming, 
radiant  sisters  were  floating  in  air  around  Apollo's 
chariot ;  the  earth  was  roseate  with  celestial  light ;  the 
blue  sea  laughed  beyond.  Swiftly  ascending  Heaven's 
archway  the  retinue  swept  on ;  all  was  real,  exuberant 
life  and  gladness ;  the  gods  were  thus  in  waiting  upon 
humanity,  and  men  were  the  progeny  of  the  gods.  The 
elements  of  the  Hellenic  idealism,  so  often  cited,  are 
readily  understood.  It  appeared  in  the  blithesome 
imagery  of  a  race  that  felt  the  pulses  of  youth,  with  no 
dogmas  of  the  past  to  thicken  its  current  and  few  ana 
lytical  speculations  to  perturb  it.  Youth,  health,  and 
simplicity  of  life  brought  men  to  accept  and  inform 
after  their  own  longings  the  outward  phenomena  of 
natural  things.  Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy. 
I  refer  to  the  antique  feeling  (as  I  might  to  that  of 
the  pastoral  Hebraic  age),  not  as  to  the  exponent  of 
a  period  superior  to  our  own,  or  comparable  with  it 
in  knowledge,  comfort,  grasp  of  all  that  enhances  the 
average  of  human  welfare,  but  as  that  of  a  poetical 
era,  charged  with  what  has  ever,  until  now,  made  the 
excellence  of  such  times,  —  an  era  when  gifted  poets 
would  find  themselves  in  an  atmosphere  favoring  the 
production  of  elevated  poetry,  and  of  poetry  especially 
among  the  forms  of  art,  since  this  has  seemed  more 
independent  of  aid  from  material  science  than  the  rest. 
But  there  are  other  types  of  the  poetical  age.  Pass 
from  the  simple  and  harmonious  ideals  of  classicism 
to  the  romantic  Gothic  era,  whose  genius  was  con 
glomerate  of  old  and  new,  and  the  myths  of  many 
ages  and  countries,  but  still  fancy-free,  or  subject  only 
to  a  pretended  science  as  crude .  and  wanton  as  the 


REALISM  OF  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 


II 


fancy  itself ;  whose  imagination  was  excited  by  chival 
rous  codes  of  honor,  brave  achievement,  and  the  recur 
rent  chances  and  marvels  of  new  discovery.  Such,  for 
example,  the  Elizabethan  period  of  our  own  literature ; 
such  the  great  Italian  period  from  which  it  drew  its 
forms.  There  was  a  certain  largeness  of  mechanical 
achievement,  and  a  mass  of  theological  inquiry,  in  the 
time  of  Dante,  Boccaccio,  and  Petrarch,  and  in  that 
of  Tasso  and  Ariosto,  but  all  subject  to  the  influence 
of  superstition  and  romance.  The  world  was  only 
half  discovered;  men's  fancy  was  constantly  on  the 
alert ;  nothing  commonplace  held  the  mind ;  even 
the  lives  and  ventures  of  merchants  had  a  wealth  of 
mystery,  strangeness,  and  speculation  about  them, 
which  might  well  make  an  Antonio  and  a  Sebastian 
the  personages  of  Shakespeare's  and  Fletcher's  plays. 
Each  part  of  the  globe  was  a  phantasmal  or  fairy  land 
to  the  inhabitants  of  other  parts.  A  traveller  was  a 
marked  man.  Somewhere  in  Asia  was  the  Great  Khan  ; 
later,  in  America,  were  cities  of  Manoa  paved  with 
gold.  Nothing  was  extraordinary,  or,  rather,  everything 
was  so.  The  people  fed  on  the  material  of  poetry, 
and  wove  laurel-wreaths  for  those  who  made  their 
song. 

Oar  own  time,  so  eminently  scientific,  so  devoted  to 
investigation  of  universal  truth,  has  found  such  wonders 
in  the  laws  of  force  and  matter,  that  the  poetic  bearing 
of  their  phenomena  has  seemed  of  transient  worth; 
enjoyment  and  excitation  of  the  intellect  through  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  are  valued  more  and  more. 
Thinkers  become  unduly  impressed  with  the  relative 
unimportance  of  man  and  his  conceptions.  Our  first 
knowledge  of  the  amazing  revelations  of  astronomy  — 
which  I  take  as  a  most  impressive  type  of  the  cognate 


The  modern 
spirit. 


, 


12 


THE  PERIOD. 


The  realis 
tic  tenden 
cies  of  the 
present  time. 


sciences  —  tends  to  repress  self-assertion,  and  to  make 
one  content  with  accepting  quietly  his  little  share  of 
life  and  action.  In  earlier  eras  of  this  kind,  discov 
ery  and  invention  occupied  men's  minds  until,  fully 
satiated,  they  longed  for  mental  rest  and  a  return  to  a 
play  of  heart  and  fancy.  Too  much  wisdom  seemed 
folly  indeed ;  dance  and  song  and  pastoral  romance 
resumed  their  sway ;  the  harpers  harped  anew,  and 
from  the  truer  life  and  knowledge  scientifically  gained 
broke  forth  new  blossoms  of  poetic  art.  But  our  own 
period  has  no  exact  prototype.  It  is  advanced  in 
civilization ;  but  the  time  of  Pericles,  though  also 
exhibiting  a  modern  refinement,  was  one  of  scientific 
ignorance.  There  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  mediaeval 
spirit  of  scientific  inquiry,  but  almost  wholly  guided 
by  superstition.  Even  nature's  laws  were  compelled 
to  bow  to  church  fanaticism  ;  experiments  were  looked 
upon  with  distrust,  or  conducted  in  secrecy;  and  po 
etry,  at  least  in  respect  to  its  cherished  language  and 
ideals,  had  no  occasion  to  take  alarm. 

But  in  the  nineteenth  century,  science,  freedom  of 
thought,  refinement,  and  material  progress  have  moved 
along  together.  The  modern  student  often  has  been 
so  narrowed  by  his  investigations  as  to  be  more  unjust 
to  the  poet  than  the  latter  was  of  old  to  the  philoso 
pher.  Art  has  seemed  mere  pastime  and  amusement, 
as  once  it  seemed  the  devil's  frippery  and  seduction 
to  the  ascetic  soul  of  the  Puritan,  aglow  with  the 
gloomy  or  rapturous  mysteries  of  his  theology.  Also 
by  the  multitude  whom  the  practical  results  of  science 
at  last  have  thoroughly  won  over,  —  and  who  now  are 
impelled  by  more  than  Roman  ambition  to  girdle  the 
earth  with  engineering  and  conquer  the  elements  them 
selves,  —  neither  the  songsters  nor  the  metaphysicians, 


HUXLEY  ON  EDUCATION. 


but  the  physical  investigators  and  men  of  action,  are 
held  to  be  the  world's  great  men.  The  De  Lesseps, 
Fields,  Barings,  and  Vanderbilts,  no  less  than  Lyell, 
Darwin,  and  Agassiz,  wear  the  bay-leaves  of  to-day. 
Religion  and  theology,  also,  are  subjected  to  analysis 
and  the  universal  tests,  and  at  last  the  divine  and  the 
poet,  traditionally  at  loggerheads,  have  a  common  bond 
of  suffering,  —  a  union  of  toleration  or  half-disguised 
contempt.  Eating  together  at  the  side-tables,  neither  is 
adequately  consoled  by  reflecting  that  the  other  is  no 
more  to  be  envied  than  himself.  The  poet's  hold  upon 
the  youthful  mind  and  sentimental  popular  emotion 
has  also  measurably  relaxed;  for  a  learned  professor, 
who  has  spoken  of  poetic  expression  as  "sensual 
caterwauling,"  and  possibly  regards  the  gratification  of 
the  aesthetic  perceptions  as  of  little  worth,  grossly  un 
derrated  his  position  when  he  said  that,  "at  present, 
education  is  almost  entirely  devoted  to  the  cultivation 
of  the  power  of  expression  and  of  the  sense  of  literary 
beauty."  The  truth  is  that  our  school-girls  and  spin 
sters  wander  down  the  lanes  with  Darwin,  Huxley,  and 
Spencer  under  their  arms ;  or  if  they  carry  Tennyson, 
Longfellow,  and  Morris,  read  them  in  the  light  of 
spectrum  analysis,  or  test  them  by  the  economics  of 
Mill  and  Bain.  The  very  tendency  of  modern  poetry 
to  wreak  its  thoughts  upon  expression,  of  which  Huxley 
so  complains,  naturally  follows  the  iconoclastic  over 
throw  of  its  cherished  ideals,  confining  it  to  skilful 
utilization  of  the  laws  of  form  and  melody.  Ay,  even 
the  poets,  with  their  intensely  sympathetic  natures, 
have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  age,  and  pronounce  the 
verdict  against  themselves.  One  of  them  envies  his 
early  comrade,  who  forsook  art  to  follow  learning, 
and  thus  in  ajre  addresses  him :  — 


Theology. 


Huxley  on 
"Scientific 
Education": 
"  Appletons1 
Journal" 
Aug.  14, 
1869. 


THE  PERIOD. 


"  Alike  we  loved 

The  muses'  haunts,  and  all  our  fancies  moved 
To  measures  of  old  song.     How  since  that  day 
Our  feet  have  parted  from  the  path  that  lay 
So  fair  before  us !     Rich,  from  life-long  search 
Of  truth,  within  thy  Academic  porch 
Thou  sittest  now,  lord  of  a  realm  of  fact, 
Thy  servitors  the  sciences  exact ; 
Still  listening,  with  thy  hand  on  Nature's  keys, 
To  hear  the  Samian's  spheral  harmonies 
And  rhythm  of  law 

And  if  perchance  too  late  I  linger  where 
The  flowers  have  ceased  to  blow,  and  trees  are  bare, 
Thou,  wiser  in  thy  choice,  will  scarcely  blame 
The  friend  who  shields  his  folly  with  thy  name." 

The  more  intellectual  will  confess  to  you  that  they 
weary  less  of  a  new  essay  by  Proctor  or  Tyndall  than 
of  the  latest  admirable  poem ;  that,  overpowered  in 
the  brilliant  presence  of  scientific  discovery,  their  own 
conceptions  seem  less  dazzling.  A  thirst  for  more 
facts  grows  upon  them ;  they  throw  aside  their  lyres 
and  renew  the  fascinating  study,  forgetful  that  the 
inspiration  of  Plato,  Shakespeare,  and  other  poets  of 
old,  often  foreshadowed  the  glory  of  these  revelations, 
and  neglecting  to  chant  in  turn  the  transcendent  pos 
sibilities  of  eras  yet  to  come.  Science,  the  modern 
Circe,  beguiles  them  from  their  voyage  to  the  Hesperi- 
des,  and  transforms  them  into  her  voiceless  devotees. 

Every  period,  however  original  and  creative,  has  a 
transitional  aspect  in  its  relation  to  the  years  before 
and  after.  In  scientific  iconoclasm,  then,  we  have  the 
most  important  of  the  symptoms  which  mark  the  recent 
era  as  a  transition  period,  and  presently  shall  observe 
features  in  the  structure  and  composition  of  its  po 
etry  which  justify  us  in  thus  ranking  it.  The  Victorian 


METHOD   OF  THE  PHILOSOPHER, 


poets  have  flourished  in  an  equatorial  region  of  com 
mon-sense  and  demonstrable  knowledge.  Thought  has 
outlived  its  childhood,  yet  has  not  reached  a  growth 
from  which  experience  and  reason  lead  to  visions 
more  radiant  than  the  early  intuitions.  The  zone  of 
youthful  fancy,  excited  by  unquestioning  acceptance 
of  outward  phenomena,  is  now  well  passed;  the  zone 
of  cultured  imagination  is  still  beyond  us.  At  present, 
skepticism,  analysis,  scientific  conquest,  realism,  scorn 
ful  unrest.  Apollo  has  left  the  heavens.  The  modern 
child  knows  more  than  the  sage  of  antiquity. 

To  us  the  Sun  is  a  material,  flaming  orb,  around 
which  revolves  this  dark,  inferior  planet,  obedient  to 
central  and  centrifugal  forces.  We  know  that  no  celes 
tial  flowers  bestrew  his  apparent  pathway ;  that  all  this 
iridescence  is  but  the  refraction  of  white  light  through 
the  mists  of  the  upper  skies.  Let  me  in  advance  dis 
avow  regret  for  the  present,  or  desire  to  recall  the 
past :  I  simply  recognize  a  condition  which  was  in 
evitable  and  in  the  order  of  growth  to  better  things. 
"  Much  of  what  we  call  sublime,"  said  Landor,  "  is 
only  the  residue  of  infancy,  and  the  worst  of  it."  I 
cannot  disbelieve  the  words  of  a  latter-day  writer,  that, 
"  so  far  from  being  unfriendly  to  the  poetic  imagina 
tion,  science  will  breathe  into  it  a  higher  exaltation." 
In  my  chapter  on  Tennyson  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
cite  the  language  of  Wordsworth,  who,  with  prophetic 
vision,  depicted  an  era  when  the  poet  and  the  man 
of  science  shall  find  their  missions  harmonious  and 
united.  But  the  change  is  none  the  less  severe,  and 
the  period  has  been  indeed  trying  for  the  votaries  of 
song.  True,  that  already,  in  our  glimmerings  of  the 
source  and  motion  of  the  "  offspring  of  Heaven  first 
born,"  in  our  partial  knowledge  of  the  meaning  of 


2.    The  ra 
tional,  or 
scientific 
•mode. 


Words- 
•worth's 
Preface  to 
the  second 
edition  of 
his  poems. 


i6 


THE  PERIOD. 


Embarrass 
ment  of  the 
idealists. 


appearances,  we  can  use  this  meaning  for  the  lan 
guage  and  basis  of  poetical  works  ;  but  recent  poets 
have  had  to  contend  with  the  fact  that,  while  men 
are  instructed  out  of  the  early  phenomenal  faith,  their 
recognition  of  scientific  truth  has  not  yet  become  that 
second  nature  which  can  replace  it.  The  poet  of  to 
day,  burdened  with  his  new  wisdom,  represents  the 
contemporary  treatment  when  he  says, — 

"  There  sinks  the  nebulous  star  we  call  the  Sun, 
If  that  hypothesis  of  theirs  be  sound  "  ; 

but  it  is  by  a  prosaic  effort  that  he  recalls  a  fact  at 
variance  with  the  impression  of  his  own  childhood,  sub 
duing  his  fancy  to  his  judgment  and  to  the  spirit  of  the 
time.  Let  myths  go  by,  and  it  still  remains  that  every 
child  is  a  natural  Ptolemaist,  who  must  be  educated  to 
the  Copernican  system,  and  his  untutored  notions  gen 
erally  are  as  far  from  the  truth  with  regard  to  other 
physical  phenomena. 

The  characteristics  of  the  middle  portion  of  the 
nineteenth  century  have  been  so  perplexing,  that  it  is 
but  natural  the  elder  generation  among  us  should  ex 
claim,  "  Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  ? " 
While  other  arts  must  change  and  change,  the  pure 
office  of  poetry  is  ever  to  idealize  and  prophesy  of  the 
unknown  ;  and  its  lovers,  forgetting  that  Nature  is  lim 
itless  in  her  works  and  transitions,  mourn  that  —  so 
much  having  been  discovered,  robbed  of  its  glamour, 
and  reduced  to  prosaic  fact  —  the  poet's  ancient  office 
is  at  last  put  by.  Let  them  take  fresh  heart,  recalling 
the  Master's  avowal  that  Nature's  "book  of  secrecy" 
is  infinite ;  let  them  note  what  spiritual  and  material 
spheres  are  yet  untrod  ;  rejoicing  over  the  past  rather 
than  hopeless  of  future  achievement,  let  thorn  examine 


THE  LA  W  OF  PROGRESS. 


with  me  the  disenchanting  process  which  has  made 
their  own  time  a  turbulent,  unrestful  interval  of  tran 
sition  from  that  which  was  to  that  which  shall  be  ;  a 
time  when,  more  than  his  perpetual  wont,  the  poet 
looks  "before  and  after,  and  pines  for  what  is  not." 

As  in  chemical  physics,  first  sublimation,  then  crys 
tallization,  then  the  sure  and  firm-set  earth  beneath 
our  feet;  so  in  human  progress,  first  the  ethereal  fan 
tasy  of  the  poet,  then  discovery  by  experience  and 
induction,  bringing  us  to  what  is  deemed  scientific, 
prosaic  knowledge  of  objects  and  their  laws.  Thus  in 
the  earlier  periods,  when  poets  composed  empirically, 
the  rarest  minds  welcomed  and  honored  their  produc 
tions  in  the  same  spirit.  But  now,  if  they  work  in  this 
way,  as  many  are  still  fain,  it  must  be  for  the  tender 
heart  of  women  and  the  delight  of  youths,  since  the 
fitter  audience  of  thinkers,  the  most  elevated  and 
eager  spirits,  no  longer  find  sustenance  in  such  empty 
magician's  food.  With  regard  to  the  soul  of  men  and 
things,  they  still  give  rein  to  fancy  and  empiricism, 
for  that  is  still  unknown.  Hence  the  new  phases  of 
psychical  poetry,  which  formerly  repelled  the  healthy- 
minded  by  its  morbid  cast.  But  touching  material  phe 
nomena  they  no  longer  accept,  even  for  its  beauty,  the 
language  of  myth  and  tradition  ;  they  ktiow  better  ;  the 
glory  may  remain,  but  verily  the  dream  has  passed 
away. 

A  skeptical  period  may  call  forth  heroic  elements  of 
self-devotion  ;  criticism  is  endured  and  even  courted, 
and  the  vulnerable  point  of  an  inherited  faith  is  surely 
found.  Earnest  minds  sadly  but  manfully  give  up  their 
ancestral  traditions,  and  refuse  to  seek  repose  in  any 
creed  that  cannot  undergo  the  extreme  test.  But  an 
age  of  distrust,  however  stoical  and  brave,  rarely  has 


Progress, 
and  its  law. 


Features  of 
an  investi 
gating  Pe- 
iod. 


IS 


THE  PERIOD. 


been  favorable  to  high  and  creative  art.  Great  pro 
ductions  usually  have  been  adjusted  to  the  formulas 
of  some  national  or  world-wide  faith,  and  its  common 
atmosphere  pervades  them.  The  Iliad  is  subject  to 
the  Hellenic  mythology,  whose  gods  and  heroes  are 
its  projectors  and  sustainers.  The  Divine  Comedy, 
Paradise  Lost,  the  most  imaginative  poems,  the  great 
est  drama's,  —  each,  as  it  comes  to  mind,  seems,  like 
the  most  renowned  and  glorious  paintings,  to  have 
been  the  product  of  an  age  of  faith,  however  sharply 
minor  sects  may  have  contended  within  the  limits  of 
the  general  belief.  The  want  of  such  a  belief  often 
has  led  to  undue  realism,  or  to  inertness  on  the  part 
of  the  best  intellects,  and  in  many  other  ways  has 
checked  the  creative  impulse,  the  joyous  ardor  of  the 
visionary  and  poet. 

To  make  another  statement  of  the  old  position  of 
art  in  relation  to  knowledge,  we  may  say  that  until  a 
recent  date  the  imagination,  paradoxical  as  it  may 
seem,  has  been  most  heightened  and  sustained  by  the 
contemplation  of  natural  objects,  rather  as  they  seem  to 
be  than  as  we  know  they  are.  For  to  the  pure  and 
absorbed  spirit  it  is  the  ideal  only  that  seems  real ; 
as  a  lover  adores  the  image  and  simulacrum  of  his 
mistress,  pictured  to  his  inner  consciousness,  more  than 
the  very  self  and  substance  of  her  being.  Thus  Keats, 
the  English  apprentice,  surrounded  himself  with  all 
Olympus's  hierarchy,  and  breathed  the  freshness  of 
Thessalian  forest-winds.  But  for  an  instance  of  per 
fect  substitution  of  the  seeming  for  the  true,  commend 
me  to  the  passion  and  rhapsody  of  Heine,  who  on  the 
last  days  of  his  outdoor  life,  blind  to  the  loving  sym 
pathy  of  the  actual  men  and  women  around  him,  falls 
smitten  and  helpless  at  the  feet  of  the  Venus  of  Milo, 


AN  APPROACHING  HARMONY. 


his  loVed  ideal  beauty,  sees  her  looking  upon  him  with 
divine  pity  and  yearning,  and  hears  her  words,  spoken 
only  for  his  ear,  "  Dost  thou  not  see  that  I  have  no 
arms,  and  therefore  cannot  help  thee  ? "  The  knowl 
edge  of  unreality  was  present  to  his  reason,  but  the 
high  poetic  soul  disdained  it,  and  received  such  con 
solation  as  only  poets  know.  So  also  Blake,  that 
sublime  visionary,  tells  us  :  "I  assert  for  myself  that 
I  do  not  behold  the  outward  creation,  and  that  to  me 
it  is  hindrance  and  not  action.  '  What ! '  it  will  be 
questioned,  'when  the  sun  rises,  do  you  not  see  a 
disk  of  fire,  somewhat  like  a  guinea  ? '  '  O  no,  no  !  I 
see  an  innumerable  company  of  the  heavenly  host, 
crying,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the  Lord  God  Almighty ! " 
I  question  not  my  corporeal  eye,  any  more  than  I 
would  question  a  window  concerning  a  sight.  I  look 
through  it,  and  not  with  it.' " 

There  are  passages  in  modern  poetry  that  seem  to 
forebode  the  approaching  harmony  of  Poetry  and  Sci 
ence  ;  the  essays  of  Tyndall  and  Spencer  are,  the 
question  of  form  left  out,  poems  in  themselves  ;  and 
there  are  both  philosophers  and  poets  who  feel  that 
no  absolute  antagonism  can  exist  between  them.  Dr. 
Adolphe  Wurtz,  in  a  paper  before  the  French  Associa 
tion,  declared  that  the  mission  of  science  is  to  struggle 
against  the  unknown,  while  in  letters  it  is  enough  to 
give  an  expression,  and  in  art  a  body,  to  the  concep 
tions  of  the  mind  or  the  beauties  of  nature.  To  this 
we  may  add  that  science  kindles  the  imagination  with 
the  new  conceptions  and  new  beauties  which  it  has 
wrested  from  the  unknown,  and  thus  becomes  the 
ally  of  poetry.  The  latter,  in  turn,  is  often  the  herald 
of  science,  through  what  is  termed  the  intuition  of  the 
poet.  Whether  by  means  of  some  occult  revelation, 


Approach 
ing  har 
mony  of 
Poetry  and 
Science. 


A  ddress  on 
"  The  Pro 
gress  of 
Chemistry" 
at  Lille, 
Aug.  20, 
1874. 


20 


THE  PERIOD. 


or  by  a  feminine  process  of  quick  reasoning  that  ap 
proaches  instinct,  or,  again,  by  his  subtile  power  to 
"  see  into  the  life  of  things,"  the  poet  foretokens  the 
discoveries  of  the  man  of  science  in  the  material  world 
and  concerning  the  laws  of  mind  and  being.  A  mod 
ern  philosopher  goes  back  to  Lucretius  for  the  basis 
of  the  latest  theory  of  matter.  Before  the  general  ac 
knowledgment  of  the  vibratory  transmission  of  light, 
and  of  the  doctrine  of  the  correlation  of  forces,  Goethe 
made  Mephistopheles  avow  that 

"  Light,  howe'er  it  weaves, 
Still,  fettered,  unto  bodies  cleaves  : 
It  flows  from  bodies,  bodies  beautifies ; 
By  bodies  is  its  course  impeded." 

In  "  Death's  Jest-Book,"  that  weird  tragedy  composed 
by  a  poet  who  preceded  Darwin,  we  find  the  idea  of 
evolution  carried  to  its  full  extreme  :  — 

"  I  have  a  bit  of  Fiat  in  my  soul, 
And  can  myself  create  my  little  world. 
Had  I  been  born  a  four-legged  child,  methinks 
I  might  have  found  the  steps  from  dog  to  man, 
And  crept  into  his  nature." 

The  speaker  then  hints  at  the  development  of  mind 
from  inert  matter,  through  the  crystal,  through  the 
organic  plant,  and  so  on  through  successive  grades 
of  animal  life  culminating  with  the  intellectual  man. 
Even  then  he  adds, — 

"  Have  patience  but  a  little,  and  keep  still, 
I  '11  find  means,  by  and  by,  of  flying  higher." 

Beddoes,  it  is  true,  was  a  learned  investigator,  and  so 
was  Goethe.  But  such  poets,  seizing  upon  the  merest 
germs  of  scientific  discovery,  pursue  them  to  their 
ultimate  bounds,  and  thus  suggest  and  anticipate  the 
empirical  confirmation  of  their  truth.  Finally,  the 


BOTH  TRANSITIONAL  AND   CREATIVE. 


21 


poet  must  always  have  a  separate  and  independent 
province,  for  the  spirit  of  Nature  is  best  revealed  by 
an  expression  of  her  phenomena  and  not  by  analysis  of 
her  processes.  Visible  beauty  exalts  our  emotions  far 
more  than  a  dissection  of  the  wondrous  and  intricate 
system  beneath  it.  The  sight  of  a  star  or  of  a  flower, 
or  the  story  of  a  single  noble  action,  touches  our 
humanity  more  nearly  than  the  greatest  discovery  or 
invention,  and  does  the  soul  more  good. 

Poetry  will  not  be  able  to  fully  avail  herself  of  the 
aid  of  Science,  until  her  votaries  shall  cease  to  be 
dazed  by  the  possession  of  a  new  sense.  Our  horizon 
is  now  so  extended  that  a  thousand  novel  and  sublime 
objects  confuse  us :  we  still  have  to  become  wonted  to 
their  aspects,  proportions,  distances,  and  relations  to 
one  another.  We  are  placed  suddenly,  as  it  were,  in  a 
foreign  world,  whose  spiritual  significance  is  but  dimly 
understood.  At  last  a  clearer  vision  and  riper  faith 
will  come  to  us,  and  with  them  a  fresh  inspiration, 
expressing  itself  in  new  symbols,  new  imagery  and 
beauty,  suggested  by  the  fuller  truth.  Awaiting  this, 
it  is  our  present  office  to  see  in  what  manner  the 
quality  of  the  intervening  period  has  been  impressed 
upon  the  living  pages  of  its  written  song. 

III. 

WHILE  in  one  sense  the  recent  era,  and  with  more 
point  than  usual,  may  be  called  a  transition  period,  it 
is  found  to  possess,  in  no  less  degree  than  eras  that 
have  witnessed  smaller  changes,  a  character  and  his 
tory  of  its  own.  Such  a  period  may  be  negative,  or 
composite,  in  the  value  of  its  art-productions.  The 
dreary  interval  between  the  times  of  Milton  and  Covv- 


The  poet  in 
undisturbed 
possession  of 
one  domain. 


A  complete 
understand 
ing  not  yet 
possible. 


The  recent 
period  both 
transitional 
and  crea 
tive. 


22 


THE  PERIOD. 


The  period 
transitional 
in  thought 
and  feeling ; 


creative, 
chiefly  in 
style  and 
form. 


per  was  of  the  former  non-creative  type.  An  eclipse 
of  imagination  prevailed  and  seemed  to  chill  and  be 
numb  the  poets.  They  tried  to  plod  along  in  the  well- 
worn  paths,  but,  like  men  with  bandaged  eyes,  went 
astray  without  perceiving  it.  Substituting  pedantry 
for  emotion,  and  still  harping  on  the  old  myths,  they 
reduced  them  to  vapid,  artificial  unreality,  not  having 
the  faculty  of  reviving  their  beauty  by  new  forms  of 
expression.  Of  the  art  to  conceal  art  none  save  a 
few  like  Collins  and  Goldsmith  had  the  slightest  in 
stinct  or  control.  As  for  passion,  that  was  completely 
extinct.  At  last  the  soul  of  a  later  generation  de 
manded  the  return  to  natural  beauty,  and  the  heart 
clamored  for  pulsation  and  utterance:  Cowper,  Burns, 
Wordsworth,  Byron,  and  their  great  contemporaries, 
arose,  and  with  them  a  genuine  creative  literature,  of 
which  the  poetry  strove  to  express  the  spirit  of  nature 
and  the  emotions  of  the  heart,  —  subtile,  essential  ele 
ments,  in  which  no  amount  of  scientific  environment 
could  limit  the  poet's  restless  explorations. 

Our  recent  transition  period  ensued,  but,  in  its  com 
posite  aspect,  how  different  from  that  to  which  I  have 
referred  !  The  change  which  has  been  going  on  during 
this  time  pertains  to  imaginative  thought  and  feeling; 
the  specific  excellence  which  characterizes  its  poetry 
is  that  of  form  and  structure.  In  technical  finish  and 
variety  the  period  has  been  so  advanced  that  an  ex 
amination  of  it  should  prove  most  instructive  to  lovers 
of  the  arts.  For  this  reason,  much  of  the  criticism 
in  the  following  pages  will  be  more  technical  than  is 
common  in  a  work  of  this  scope ;  nor  can  it  be  other 
wise,  and  adequately  recognize  the  distinctive  emi 
nence  of  the  time.  The  poets  have  been  generously 
endowed  at  birth,  and  who  shall  say  that  they  have 


JOURNALISM  AND  PROSE  ROMANCE. 


not  fulfilled  their  mission  to  the  attainable  extent? 
When  not  creative,  their  genius  has  been  eclectic  and 
refining.  Doubtless  the  time  has  displayed  the  inva 
riable  characteristics  of  such  periods.  In  fact,  there 
never  were  more  outlets  to  the  imagination,  serving 
to  distract  public  attention  from  the  efforts  of  the 
poets,  than  are  afforded  in  this  age  of  prose-romance 
and  journalism.  It  has  been  a  learned  and  scholarly 
period ;  writers  have  busied  themselves  with  enjoying 
and  annotating  the  great  works  of  the  past;  criticism 
has  predominated,  —  but  how  exact  and  catholic !  How 
searching  the  tests  by  which  tradition  and  authority 
have  been  tried ;  how  high  the  standard  of  excellence 
in  art ;  how  intolerant  the  healthy  spirit  of  the  last 
thirty  years  toward  cant  and  melodramatic  affectation ; 
how  vigorous  the  crusade  against  sham  !  In  all  this 
we  discern  the  remaining  features  which,  though  less 
radical  in  their  importance  than  the  scientific  revolu 
tion,  have  marked  the  Victorian  period  as  one  of  tran 
sition,  and  as  composite  in  the  thought  and  structure 
of  its  poetic  art 

Besides  the  restrictions  to  which  the  poets  have  been 
subjected  by  the  triumphs  of  the  journalists  and  novel- 
writers,  their  enthusiasm  also  is  checked  by  the  mod 
ern  dislike  of  emotional  outgivings  and  display.  This 
aversion  naturally  results  from  the  peace,  security,  and 
ultra-comfortableness  of  the  English  people.  It  has 
been  a  time  of  repose  and  luxury,  a  felicitous  Satur- 
nian  era,  when  all  rare  things  that  poets  dream  of  are 
close  at  hand.  Fulfilment  has  stilled  the  voice  of 
prophecy.  We  see  disease  averted,  life  prolonged  and 
increasing  in  average  duration,  the  masses  clothed  and 
housed,  vice  punished,  virtue  rewarded,  the  landscape 
beautiful  with  the  handiwork  of  culture  and  thrift. 


A  critical 
and  schol 
arly  period. 


OtJier  re 
strictions  to 
ideality. 


Modern 
comfort  and 
refinement. 


24 


THE   PERIOD. 


Restraint. 


Breeding. 


Impassi 
bility. 


Remark  by 

Grant 

White. 


Granted :  but  in  most  countries  advanced  to  the  front 
of  modern  refinement,  the  dominant  spirit  has  been 
antagonistic  to  the  production  of  great  and  lasting 
poetry,  —  and  of  this  above  other  arts.  For  it  is  the 
passion  of  song  that  makes  it  lofty  and  enduring,  and 
the  snows  of  Hecla  have  overlaid  human  passion  in 
English  common  life  during  most  of  the  Victorian  age. 
I  am  not  deploring  the  so-called  materialism  of  our 
century,  for  this  may  be  more  heroic  and  beneficial 
to  mankind  than  the  idealism  of  the  past.  Neverthe 
less,  and  without  magnifying  the  poet's  office,  it  is  fair 
to  assume  that,  although  a  poetical  era  may  not  be  best 
for  the  contemporary  world,  it  is  well  for  a  poet  to  be 
born  in  such  an  era,  and  not  ill  for  literature  that  he 
was  so  born. 

Having  thus  gone  beyond  the  zone  of  idealism  and 
the  morning  halo  of  impulsive  deed  and  speech,  we 
have  reached  the  noonday  of  common-sense,  breed 
ing,  facts  as  they  are.  Men  do  not  mouth  it  in  the 
grand  manner,  for  the  world  has  no  patience  to  hear 
them,  and  deems  them  stagey  or  affected.  Human 
emotions  are  the  same,  but  modern  training  tones  us 
down  to  that  impassibility  wherein  the  thoroughbred 
Christian  woman  has  been  said  to  rival  the  Indian 
squaw;  madmen  are  not,  as  of  old,  thought  to  be  in 
spired  ;  eccentricity  bores  us ;  and  poets,  who  should 
be  prophets,  are  loath  to  boldly  dare  and  differ.  Men's 
hearts  beat  on  forever,  but  Thackeray's  Englishmen  are 
ashamed  to  acknowledge  it  at  their  meetings  and  part 
ings.  The  Platonists  taught  that  the  body  should  be 
despised ;  we  quietly  ignore  the  heart  and  soul.  The 
time  is  off-hand,  chaffy,  and  must  be  taken  in  its  mood. 
A  point  was  very  fairly  made  by  "  Shakespeare's 
Scholar,"  in  his  essay  on  "The  Play  of  the  Period," 


ADVANCE  IN  POETRY  AS  AN  ART. 


that  the  latter  days  have  been  unfavorable  to  strong 
dramatic  verse,  the  highest  form  of  poetry,  and  the 
surest  mark  of  a  true  poetical  era.  The  modern  Eng 
lish  have  not  been  devoted  to  intense  heroic  feeling : 
whether  above  or  below  it,  who  shall  say?  —  but  cer 
tainly  not  within  it.  The  novel  is  their  drama;  true, 
but  chiefly  the  photographic  novel  of  conventional  life ; 
others  have  obtained  a  hearing  slowly,  by  accident,  or 
by  sheer  force  of  genius.  They  subject  their  tears  to 
analysis,  but  do  not  care  for  tragic  rage;  avoiding 
high  excitements  as  carefully  as  Septimius  Felton  in 
his  effort  to  perpetuate  life,  they  distribute  their  passion 
in  a  hundred  petty  emotions,  and  rather  than  be  exalted 
are  content  with  the  usufruct  of  the  five  external  wits. 
Domestic  peace  and  comfort  have  resulted  in  absence 
of  enthusiasm,  and  the  rise  and  prolongation  of  an 
idyllic  school  in  art.  Adventure  is  the  English  amuse 
ment,  not  a  mode  of  action ;  but  the  converse  of  this 
was  true  in  the  days  of  Raleigh,  Drake,  Sidney,  and 
Richard  Grenville.  Not  that  England  is  wholly  utili 
tarian,  "domestic,  student,  sensualist,"  as  has  been 
charged,  but  she  has  well  defined  and  studied  the  sci 
ence  of  society.  All  this  the  Victorian  poets  have^  had 
to  contend  with  as  poets,  or  adapt  themselves  to  as 
clever  artists,  and,  above  all,  as  men  of  their  time. 

Lastly,  however,  we  find  that  the  structural,  artistic 
phases  of  modern  English  poetry,  in  scorn  of  the  stilted 
conventionalism  of  the  eighteenth  century,  have  been 
of  the  most  composite  range,  variety,  and  perfection. 
Of  course  the  natural  forms  were  long  since  discovered, 
but  lyrists  have  learned  that  combinations  are  endless, 
so  that  new  styles,  if  not  new  orders,  are  constantly 
brought  out.  In  the  ultra-critical  spirit  of  the  time, 
they  enhance  the  strength  and  beauty  of  their  meas- 


The  novel. 


Great  ad 
vance  in 
poetry  as  an 
art. 


26 


THE   PERIOD. 


Its  modern 
range  and 
Perfection. 


ures  by  every  feasible  process,  and  the  careful  adap 
tation  of  form  to  theme.  This  is  an  excellence  not 
to  be  underestimated;  for  if,  as  Huxley  asserts,  "ex 
pression  is  not  valuable  for  its  own  sake,"  it  is  at  least 
the  wedded  body  of  inspiration,  employing  the  poet's 
keenest  sensibilities,  and  lending  such  value  to  thought 
as  the  cutting  of  a  diamond  adds  to  the  rugged  stone. 
Never  was  the  technique  of  poetry  so  well  understood 
as  since  the  time  of  Keats  and  the  rise  of  Tennyson 
and  his  school.  The  best  models  are  selected  by  the 
song-writers,  the  tale-tellers,  the  preachers  in  verse; 
and  a  neophyte  of  to-day  would  disdain  the  triteness 
and  crudeness  of  the  master-workmen  of  fifty  years  ago. 
The  greater  number,  instead  of  restricting  themselves 
to  a  specialty,  range  over  and  include  all  departments 
of  their  art,  and  are  lyrists,  balladists,  and  idyllists  by 
turn,  achieving  excellence  in  every  direction  except  the 
dramatic,  which  indeed  but  few  venture  upon.  Modern 
poetry,  in  short,  has  been  as  composite  as  modern 
architecture ;  and  if,  as  in  the  case  of  the  latter,  gro 
tesque  and  tawdry  combinations  abound,  there  also  are 
many  strong  and  graceful  structures,  which  excel  those 
of  former  periods  in  richness  and  harmony  of  adorn 
ment.  The  rhythm  of  every  dainty  lyrical  inspiration 
which  heralded  the  morning  of  English  minstrelsy  has 
been  caught  and  adapted  by  the  song-writers,  all  of 
whom,  from  Barry  Cornwall  and  Hood  to  Kingsley 
and  Jean  Ingelow,  have  new  arrangements  and  effects 
of  their  own.  The  extreme  of  word-music  and  word- 
painting  has  been  attained,  together  with  a  peculiar 
condensation  in  imagery  and  thought ;  so  that,  whereas 
the  poets  of  the  last  era,  for  all  their  strength  of  wing, 
occupied  whole  passages  with  a  single  image,  their 
more  refined  successors  discover  its  essential  quality 


TO    WHAT  EXTENT  REFLECTED  IN  ART. 


(somewhat  as  chemists  embody  the  active  principle 
of  a  plant  in  the  crystalline  salt),  and  express  it  by  a 
single  adjective  or  epithet.  If  "the  light  that  gilds" 
our  recent  English  poetry  be  "the  light  of  sunset," 
it  is  indeed  beautiful  with  all  prismatic  hues,  and  its 
lustres  are  often  as  attractive  in  themselves  as  for 
the  truth  and  beauty  which  they  serve  to  illumine. 

So  far  as  progress  is  a  change  from  the  simple  to  the 
complex,  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous, 
we  may  hold  that  an  advance  is  making  in  English  art. 
But  a  period  of  transition  is  also  one  of  doubt  and 
turbulence ;  one  whose  characteristics  it  is  especially 
requisite  to  bear  in  mind,  in  order  to  obtain  a  true 
appreciation  of  the  leading  poets  who  represent  it. 
For  we  must  consider  an  artist's  good  or  ill  fortune, 
his  struggles  and  temptations,  his  aids  and  encourage 
ments  ;  remembering  that  the  most  important  art  of 
any  period  is  that  which  most  nearly  illustrates  its 
manners,  thoughts,  and  emotions  in  imaginative  lan 
guage  or  form.  Through  his  sensitive  organization  the 
poet  is  exquisitely  affected  by  the  spirit  of  his  time  ; 
and,  to  render  his  work  of  future  moment,  seeks  to 
reflect  that  spirit,  or  confines  himself  to  expression  of 
the  spiritual  experiences  common  to  all  ages  and  all 
mankind.  Mr.  Emerson,  in  his  search  for  the  under 
lying  principle  of  things,  finds  it  a  defect  even  in 
Homer  and  Milton,  that  their  works  are  clogged  with 
restrictions  of  times,  personages,  and  places.  Yet  these 
are  the  world's  great  names ;  it  has  no  greater.  The 
potent  allegory  of  their  poems  comes  nearer  to  us  than 
the  abstract  Shastras.  Their  personages  and  places 
are  but  the  media  through  which  the  Protean  forms 
of  nature  are  set  forth.  The  statement  of  unmixed 
thought  and  beauty  has  not  been  the  splendor  of  the 


Tendency  of 
art  to  reflect 
its  own  time. 


Emerson : 
Essay  "  The 
Poet." 


28 


THE  PERIOD. 


Adverse  in- 
Jlrtence  of 
the  recent 
era  upon  the 
minor  poets. 


masters.  And  while  it  is  true  that  nature  and  history 
are  the  poet's  workshop,  and  all  material  his  property, 
the  studies  and  reproductions  of  foreign  or  antique 
models,  except  as  practice-work,  are  of  less  value  than 
what  he  can  show  or  say  of  his  own  time. 

Hence  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  to  the  poet 
that  he  should  live  in  a  sympathetic,  or  co-operative,  if 
not  heroic  period.  In  studying  the  minor  poets,  we 
see  with  especial  clearness  the  adverse  influences  of  a 
transition  era,  composite  though  it  be.  A  likeness  of 
manner  and  language  is  common  to  the  Elizabethan 
writers,  various  as  were  their  themes  and  natural  gifts. 
The  same  is  apparent  in  the  Cromwellian  period  with 
regard  to  Marvell,  Shirley,  and  their  contemporaries. 
But  now,  as  if  in  despair  of  finding  new  themes  to  suit 
their  respective  talents,  yet  driven  on  to  expression, 
we  discern  the  Victorian  poets,  —  one  copying  the  re 
frains  and  legendary  feeling  of  illuminated  missals  and 
black-letter  lays ;  another  recasting  the  most  enchant 
ing  and  famous  romances  of  Christendom  in  delicious 
language  and  measures  caught  from  Chaucer  himself ; 
others  adopting  the  quaint  religious  manner  of  Her 
bert  and  Vaughan  ;  a  host  essaying  new  and  conscien 
tious  presentations  of  the  undying  beauty  of  Greek 
mythologic  lore.  We  see  them  dallying  with  sweet 
sense  and  sound,  until  our  taste  for  melody  and  color 
is  more  than  surfeited.  The  language  which  Henry 
Taylor  applied  to  the  poets  of  a  former  generation 
seems  even  more  appropriate  with  respect  to  these 
artists.  They,  too,  are  characterized  "  by  a  profusion 
of  imagery,  by  force  and  beauty  of  language,  and  by 

a   versification  peculiarly  easy  and  adroit But 

from  this  undoubted  indulgence  in  the  mere  luxuries 
of  poetry,  has  there  not  ensued  a  want  of  adequate  ap- 


STRUGGLES  OF  THE  MINOR  POETS. 


29 


preciation  for  its  intellectual  and  immortal  part  ?  .  .  .  . 
They  wanted,  in  the  first  place,  subject-matter.  A  feel 
ing  came  more  easily  to  them  than  a  reflection,  and 
an  image  was  always  at  hand  when  a  thought  was  not 
forthcoming."  It  is  but  just  to  say  that  the  recent 
poets  are  not  so  wanting  in  reflection  as  in  themes 
and  essential  purpose.  These  defects  many  have 
striven  to  hide  by  excessive  finish  and  ornamentation. 
Conscious  of  this,  a  few,  with  a  spasmodic  effort  to 
be  original,  break  away  in  disdain  of  all  art,  palming 
off  a  "  saucy  roughness  "  for  strength,  and  coarseness 
for  vigor ;  and  even  this  return  to  chaos  wins  the 
favor  of  many  who,  from  very  sickness  of  over-refine 
ment,  pass  to  the  other  extreme,  and  welcome  the 
meaner  work  for  a  time  because  it  is  a  change.  The 
effect  of  novelty  gives  every  fashion  a  temporary 
hold ;  but  the  calmer  vision  looks  above  and  along 
the  succession  of  modes,  and  seeks  what  is  in  itself 
ennobling;  and  every  disguise  of  dilettanteism,  aris 
tocratic  or  democratic,  whether  it  struts  in  the  rags 
of  Autolycus,  or  steals  the  robe  of  Prospero  and  apes 
his  majestic  mien,  must  ultimately  fall  away.  In  the 
search  for  a  worthy  theme,  more  than  one  of  the  poets 
to  whom  I  refer  has,  by  a  toiir  de  force,  allied  himself  to 
some  heroic  mission  of  the  day.  On  the  other  hand, 
honest  agitators  have  been  moved,  by  passionate  zeal 
for  their  several  causes,  to  outbursts  of  rhythmical 
expression.  In  most  cases  the  lyrics  of  either  class 
have  been  rhetorical  and  eloquent  rather  than  truly 
poetical.  Finally,  in  the  wide  diffusion  of  a  partial 
culture,  the  Victorian  period  has  been  noteworthy  for 
the  multitudes  of  its  tolerable  poets.  It  has  been  a 
time  of  English  minnesingers,  hosts  of  them  chanting 
"  the  old  eternal  song." 


See  the 
Preface  to 
"Philip  Van 
Artevelde" 
London, 
1834. 


Two  forms 
of  dilettante- 
ism. 


THE  PERIOD. 


Triumph  of 
tJie  greater 
poets  over 
their  restric 
tions. 


Landor. 


Tennyson. 


Mrs.  Brown 
ing. 


Browning. 


But  the  poets  of  such  a  period  are  like  a  collection 
of  trout  in  water  that  has  become  stagnant  or  turbid. 
The  graceful  smaller  fry,  unconscious  that  the  real 
difficulty  is  in  the  atmosphere  about  them,  one  after 
another  yield  to  it  and  lose  their  color,  flavor,  and 
elastic  life.  But  the  few  noble  masters  of  the  pool 
adapt  themselves  to  the  new  condition,  or  resist  it 
altogether,  and  abide  till  the  disorder  of  the  waters 
is  assuaged.  Reviewing  the  poetic  genius  of  the  clos 
ing  era,  we  find  one  strong  spirit  maintaining  an  in 
dependent  beauty  and  vigor  through  successive  gen 
erations,  composing  the  rarest  prose  and  poetry  with 
slight  regard  to  temporal  mode  or  hearing,  —  a  man 
neither  of  nor  for  an  age,  —  who  has  but  lately  passed 
away.  Another,  of  a  different  cast,  the  acknowledged 
master  of  the  composite  school,  has  reflected  his  own 
period  by  adapting  his  poems  to  its  landscape,  man 
ners,  and  speculation,  with  such  union  of  strength  and 
varied  elegance  as  even  English  literature  has  seldom 
displayed.  We  find  a  woman  —  an  inspired  singer,  if 
there  ever  was  one  —  all  fire  and  air,  her  song  and  soul 
alike  devoted  to  liberty,  aspiration,  and  ethereal  love. 
A  poet,  her  masculine  complement,  whose  name  is  rich 
with  the  added  glory  of  her  renown,  represents  the 
antiquity  of  his  race  by  study  of  mediaeval  themes,  and 
exhibits  to  the  modern  lover,  noble,  statesman,  thinker, 
priest,  their  prototypes  in  ages  long  gone  by ;  he  con 
stantly  exalts  passion  above  reason,  while  reasoning 
himself,  withal,  in  the  too  curious  fashion  of  the 
present  day;  again,  he  is  the  exponent  of  what  dra 
matic  spirit  is  still  left  to  England,  —  that  of  psycho 
logical  analysis,  which  turns  the  human  heart  inside 
out,  judging  it  not  from  outward  action,  in  the  manner 
of  the  early,  simply  objective  masters  of  the  stage. 


RECENT  BRITISH   TASTE. 


Youngest  and  latest,  we  find  a  phenomenal  genius, 
the  extreme  product  of  the  time,  carrying  its  artistic 
and  spiritual  features  to  that  excess  which  foretokens 
exhaustion  ;  possessed  of  unprecedented  control  over 
the  rhythm  and  assonance  of  English  poetry;  in  the 
purpose  and  structure  of  his  early  verse  to  be  studied 
as  a  force  of  expression  carried  to  its  furthest  limits, 
but  in  his  mature,  dramatic  work  exhibiting  signs  of 
a  reaction  or  transformation  which  surely  is  even  now 
at  hand. 

For  that  the  years  of  transition  are  near  an  end, 
and  that,  in  England  and  America,  a  creative  poetic 
literature,  adapted  to  the  new  order  of  thought  and 
the  new  aspirations  of  humanity,  will  speedily  grow 
into  form,  I  believe  to  be  evident  wherever  our  com 
mon  tongue  is  the  language  of  imaginative  expres 
sion.  The  idyllic  philosophy  in  which  Wordsworth 
took  refuge  from  the  cant  and  melodrama  of  his 
predecessors  has  fulfilled  its  immediate  mission  ;  the 
art  which  was  born  with  Keats,  and  found  its  perfect 
work  in  Tennyson,  already  seems  faultily  faultless  and 
over-refined.  A  craving  for  more  dramatic,  sponta 
neous  utterance  is  prevalent  with  the  new  generation. 
There  is  an  instinct  that  to  interpret  the  hearts  and 
souls  of  men  and  women  is  the  poet's  highest  func 
tion  ;  a  disposition  to  throw  aside  precedents,  —  to 
study  life,  dialect,  and  feeling,  as  our  painters  study 
landscape,  out  of  doors  and  at  first  hand.  Con 
sidered  as  the  floating  land-drift  of  a  new  possession, 
even  careless  and  faulty  work  after  this  method  is 
eagerly  received  ;  although  in  England,  so  surfeited  of 
the  past  and  filled  with  vague  desire,  the  faculty  to 
discriminate  between  the  richer  and  poorer  fabric 
seems  blunted  and  sensational ;  experimental  novel- 


Swinburfte. 


A  new  dis 
pensation. 


The 

dramatic 
instinct 
evived. 


British  taste 
subordinate 
to  love  of 
novelty. 


THE  PERIOD. 


ties  are  set  above  the  most  admirable  compositions 
in  a  manner  already  familiar ;  just  as  an  uncouth  carv 
ing  or  piece  of  foreign  lacquer-work  is  more  prized 
than  an  exquisite  specimen  of  domestic  art,  because  it 
is  strange  and  breathes  some  unknown,  spicy  fragrance 
of  a  new-found  clime.  The  transition  period,  doubt 
less,  will  be  prolonged  by  the  ceaseless  progress  of 
the  scientific  revolution,  occupying  men's  imaginations 
and  constantly  readjusting  the  basis  of  language  and 
illustration.  Erelong  some  new  Lucretius  may  come 
to  reinterpret  the  nature  of  things,  confirming  many 
of  the  ancient  prophecies,  and  substituting  for  the 
wonder  of  the  remainder  the  still  more  wondrous  tes 
timony  of  the  lens,  the  laboratory,  and  the  millennial 
rocks.  The  old  men  of  the  Jewish  captivity  wept  with 
a  loud  voice  when  they  saw  the  foundations  of  the 
new  temple,  because  its  glory  in  their  eyes,  in  com 
parison  with  that  builded  by  Solomon,  was  as  nothing ; 
but  the  prophet  assured  them  that  the  Desire  of  all 
nations  should  come,  and  that  the  glory  of  the  latter 
house  should  be  greater  than  of  the  former.  But  I  do 
not  endeavor  to  anticipate  the  future  of  English  song. 
It  may  be  lowlier  or  loftier  than  now,  but  certainly 
it  will  show  a  change,  and  my  faith  in  the  reality 
of  progress  is  broad  enough  to  include  the  field  of 
poetic  art. 


CHAPTER  II. 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 

I. 

T     ISTENING   to   the   concert   of  modern   song,  a 

J >  critical  ear  detects  the  notes  of  one  voice  which 

possesses  a  distinct  quality  and  is  always  at  its  owner's 
command.  Landor  was  never  mastered  by  his  period, 
though  still  in  harmony  with  it ;  in  short,  he  was  not 
a  discordant,  but  an  independent,  singer.  He  was  the 
pioneer  of  the  late  English  school ;  and  among  recent 
poets,  though  far  from  being  the  greatest  in  achieve 
ment,  was  the  most  self-reliant,  the  most  versatile,  and 
one  of  the  most  imaginative.  In  the  enjoyment  of 
his  varied  writings,  we  are  chiefly  impressed  by  their 
constant  exhibition  of  mental  prowess,  and  everywhere 
confronted  with  an  eager  and  incomparable  intellect. 

Last  of  all  to  captivate  the  judgment  of  the  laity,  and 
somewhat  lacking,  it  may  be,  in  sympathetic  quality  of 
tone,  Landor  is,  first  of  all,  a  poet  for  poets,  of  clear 
vision  and  assured  utterance  throughout  the  Victo 
rian  Year.  His  station  resembles  that  of  a  bulkhead 
defending  the  sea-wall  of  some  lasting  structure,  —  a 
mole  or  pier,  built  out  from  tuneful,  grove-shaded 
Arcadian  shores.  He  stretches  far  into  the  channel 
along  which  the  tides  of  literary  fashion  have  ebbed 
and  flowed.  Other  poets,  leading  or  following  the 
changeful  current,  often  appear  to  leave  him  behind; 
2*  c 


Landor  a 
pioneer  of 
the  recent 
school. 


A  poet  for 
poets. 


Intellectual 
and  self- 
reliant. 


34 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


Born  in 
Warwick, 
Jan.  30, 


His  pro 
longed 
career. 


His  method 
Victorian. 


but  erelong  find  him  again  abreast  of  them,  unchanged 
and  dauntless,  wearing  a  lighted  beacon  at  his  head. 

Why,  among  Victorian  poets,  do  I  first  mention  this 
one,  —  who  was  born  under  George  III. ;  who  ban 
died  epithets  with  Byron,  was  the  life-long  friend  of 
Southey,  —  the  contemporary,  likewise,  in  their  prime, 
of  Wordsworth,  Scott,  and  Coleridge  ;  in  whose  matu 
rity  occurred  the  swift  and  shining  transits  of  Keats 
and  Shelley,  like  the  flights  of  shooting-stars  ;  whose 
most  imposing  poem  was  given  to  the  world  at  a 
date  earlier  than  the  first  consulate  of  Napoleon ; 
who  lived,  from  the  times  of  Warton  and  Pye,  to  see 
three  successive  laureates  renew  the  freshness  of  Eng 
land's  faded  coronal,  while  he  sang  aloof  and  took 
no  care  ?  Because,  more  truly  than  another  declared 
of  himself,  he  stood  among  these,  but  not  of  them  ; 
greater  or  less,  but  different,  and  with  the  difference 
of  a  time  then  yet  to  follow.  His  style,  thought,  and 
versatility  were  Victorian  rather  than  Georgian  ;  they 
are  now  seen  to  belong  to  that  school  of  which  Tenny 
son  is  by  eminence  the  representative.  So  far  as  his 
manner  was  anything  save  his  own,  it  was  that  of 
recent  years ;  let  us  say,  instead,  that  the  popular 
method  constantly  approached  Landor's  until  the  epoch 
of  his  death,  —  and  he  died  but  even  now,  when  it 
is  on  the  point  of  yielding  to  something,  we  know  not 
what.  He  not  only  lived  to  see  the  reflection  and 
naturalism  of  Wordsworth  produce  fatigue,  but  to  the 
borders  of  a  reaction  from  that  finesse  and  technical 
perfection  which  succeeded.  His  influence  scarcely 
yet  has  grown  to  reputation,  by  communication  from 
the  select  few  to  the  receptive  many,  though  he  has 
always  stood,  unwittingly,  at  the  head  of  a  normal 
school,  teaching  the  teachers.  Passages  are  easily 


PROLONGED  AND  EMINENT  CAREER. 


35 


traceable  where  his  art,  at  least,  has  been  followed  by 
poets  who  themselves  have  each  a  host  of  imitators. 
He  may  not  have  been  the  cause  of  certain  phe 
nomena  •  they  may  have  sprung  from  the  tendency 
of  the  age,  —  if  so,  he  was  the  first  to  catch  the  ten 
dency.  Despite  his  appreciation  of  the  antique,  his 
genius  found  daily  excitants  in  new  discovery,  action, 
and  thought ;  he  never  reached  that  senility  to  which 
earlier  modes  and  generations  seem  the  better,  but 
was  first  to  welcome  progress,  and  thoroughly  up  with 
the  times.  The  larger  portion  of  his  work  saw  print 
long  after  Tennyson  began  to  compose,  and  his  epic, 
tragedies,  and  miscellaneous  poems  were  not  brought 
together,  in  a  single  volume,  until  1837, —  a  date  with 
in  five  years  of  the  laureate's  first  collective  edition. 
Hence,  while  it  is  hard  to  confine  him  to  a  single 
period,  he  is  a  tall  and  reverend  landmark  of  the  one 
under  review;  and  the  day  has  come  for  measuring 
him  as  a  poet  of  that  time,  whatever  he  may  have 
been  in  any  other.  Nor  is  he  to  be  observed  as  an 
eccentric  and  curious  spectacle,  but  as  a  distinguished 
figure  among  the  best.  As  an  artist  he  was,  like  a 
maple,  swift  of  development,  but  strong  to  hold  it  as 
an  elm  or  oak ;  while  many  poets  have  done  their 
best  work  under  thirty,  and  ten  years  after  have  been 
old  or  dead,  the  very  noontide  of  Lander's  faculties 
was  later  than  his  fiftieth  year.  We  could  not  regard 
him  as  a  tyro,  had  he  died,  like  Keats,  at  twenty-five, 
nor  as  a  jaded  old  man,  dying,  as  he  did,  at  ninety ; 
for  he  was  as  conservative  in  youth  as  he  ever  grew 
to  be,  and  as  fiery  and  forward-looking  in  age  as  in 
youth.  He  attained  the  summit  early,  and  moved 
along  an  elevated  plateau,  forbearing  as  he  grew  older 
to  descend  the  further  side,  and  at  death  flung  off 


Lander's 
retention  of 
creative 
power. 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


somewhere  into  the  ether,  still  facing  the  daybreak 
and  worshipped  by  many  rising  stars. 

Were  it  not  for  this  poet's  sustained  equality  with 
himself,  we  should  be  unable  here  to  write  of  his  ca 
reer  of  seventy  years,  filled  with  literary  recreations, 
each  the  companion  of  its  predecessor,  and  all  his 
own.  Otherwise,  in  considering  his  works,  we  should 
have  to  review  the  history  of  that  period,  —  as  one 
who  writes,  for  example,  the  life  of  Voltaire,  must 
write  the  history  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Lander's 
volumes  not  only  touch  upon  the  whole  procession  of 
those  seventy  years,  with  keen  intuitive  treatment  of 
their  important  events,  but  go  further,  and  almost 
cover  the  range  of  human  action  and  thought.  In  this 
respect  I  find  no  such  man  of  our  time.  A  writer 
of  dialogues,  he  subjects  affairs  to  the  scrutiny  of  a 
modern  journalist;  but  his  newspaper  has  every  age 
for  its  date  of  issue,  and  the  history  of  the  world 
supplies  it  with  local  incident. 

What  is  there  in  the  air  of  Warwickshire  to  breed 
such  men  ?  For  he  was  born  by  Shakespeare's  stream, 
and  verily  inhaled  something  of  the  master's  spirit  at 
his  birth.  Once,  in  the  flush  of  conscious  power,  he 
sang  of  himself, — 

"  I  drank  of  Avon  too,  a  dangerous  draught, 
That  roused  within  the  feverish  thirst  of  song." 

Lowell  has  said  of  him,  that,  "excepting  Shake 
speare,  no  other  writer  has  furnished  us  with  so  many 
delicate  aphorisms  of  human  nature " ;  and  we  may 
add  that  he  is  also  noticeable  for  universality  of  con 
templation  and  the  objective  treatment  of  stately 
themes.  In  literature,  his  range  is  unequalled  by  that 
of  Coleridge,  who  was  so  opulent  and  suggestive ;  in 


HIS   UNIVERSALITY. 


37 


philosophy,  history,  and  art,  Goethe  is  not  wiser  or 
more  imaginative,  though  often  more  calm  and  great ; 
in  learning,  the  department  of  science  excepted,  no 
writer  since  Milton  has  been  more  thoroughly  equipped. 
We  place  Landor,  who  was  greater,  even,  as  a  prose- 
writer,  among  the  foremost  poets,  because  it  was  the 
poet  within  the  man  that  made  him  great;  his  poetry 
belongs  to  a  high  order  of  that  art,  while  his  prose, 
though  strictly  prosaic  in  form,  —  he  was  too  fine  an 
artist  to  have  it  otherwise,  —  is  more  imaginative  than 
other  men's  verses.  Radically  a  poet,  he  ranks  among 
the  best  essayists  of  his  time ;  and  he  shares  this  dis 
tinction  in  common  with  Milton,  Coleridge,  Emerson, 
and  other  poets,  in  various  eras,  who  have  been  intel 
lectual  students  and  thinkers.  None  but  sentimental 
ists  and  dilettanti  confuse  their  prose  and  verse, — 
tricking  out  the  former  with  a  cheap  gloss  of  rhetoric, 
or  the  false  and  effeminate  jingle  of  a  bastard  rhythm. 

I  have  hinted,  already,  that  his  works  are  deficient 
in  that  broad  human  sympathy  through  which  Shake 
speare  has  found  his  way  to  the  highest  and  lowest 
understandings,  —  just  as  the  cloud  seems  to  one  a 
temple,  to  another  a  continent,  to  the  child  a  fairy- 
palace,  but  is  dazzling  and  glorious  to  all.  Landor 
belonged,  in  spite  of  himself,  to  the  Parnassian  aris 
tocracy;  was,  as  has  been  said,  a  poet  for  poets,  and 
one  who  personally  impressed  the  finest  organizations. 
Consider  the  names  of  those  who,  having  met  him  and 
known  his  works,  perceived  in  him  something  great 
and  worshipful.  His  nearest  friends  or  admirers  were 
Southey,  Wordsworth,  Hunt,  Milnes,  Armitage  Brown ; 
the  philosophers,  Emerson  and  Carlyle ;  such  men  of 
letters  as  Charles  Lamb,  Hazlitt,  Forster,  Julius  and 
Francis  Hare;  the  bluff  old  philologist,  Samuel  Parr; 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


the  fair  and  discerning  Blessington ;  Napier,  the  sol 
dier  and  historian ;  Elizabeth  and  Robert  Browning, 
the  most  subtile  and  extreme  of  poets,  and,  in  the 
sunrise  of  his  life,  the  youngest,  Algernon  Swinburne ; 
among  the  rest,  note  Dickens,  who  found  so  much 
that  was  rare  and  undaunted  in  the  man :  —  I  am 
almost  persuaded  to  withdraw  my  reservation!  True, 
Landor  lived  long:  in  seventy  years  one  makes  and 
loses  many  votaries  and  friends ;  but  such  an  artist, 
who,  whether  as  poet  or  man,  could  win  and  retain 
the  affection  and  admiration,  despite  his  thousand 
caprices,  of  so  many  delicate  natures,  varying  among 
themselves  in  temperament  and  opinion,  must  indeed 
possess  a  many-sided  greatness.  Nor  is  the  definition 
of  sympathetic  quality  restricted  to  that  which  touches 
the  popular  heart.  There  are  persons  who  might 
read  without  emotion  much  of  Dickens's  sentiment 
and  humor,  yet  would  feel  every  fibre  respond  to  the 
exquisite  beauty  of  Landor's  "Pericles  and  Aspasia"; 
—  persons  whom  only  the  purest  idealism  can  strongly 
affect.  But  this  is  human  also.  Shall  not  the  wise, 
as  well  as  the  witless,  have  their  poets?  There  is  an 
idea  current  that  art  is  natural  only  when  it  appeals  to 
the  masses,  or  awakens  the  simple,  untutored  emotions 
of  humble  life.  In  truth,  the  greater  should  include 
the  less  ;  the  finer,  if  need  be,  the  coarse  }  the  composer 
of  a  symphony  has,  we  trust,  melody  enough  at  his 
command.  Stage  presentation  has  done  much  to  popu 
larize  Shakespeare ;  his  plays,  moreover,  are  relished 
for  their  stories,  as  "Pilgrim's  Progress  "  and  "  Gulliver's 
Travels  "  are  devoured  by  children  without  a  thought  of 
the  theology  of  the  one  or  the  measureless  satire  of 
the  other.  Landor's  work  has  no  such  vantage-ground, 
and  much  of  it  is  "caviare  to  the  general";  but  he  is 


HIS  JUVENILE  POEk 


4 


f 


39 


none  the  less  human,  in  that  he  is  the  poet's  poet, 
the  artist's  artist,  the  delight  of  high,  heroic  souls. 

When  nineteen  years  old,  in  1795,  he  printed  his  first 
book,  —  a  rhymed  satire  upon  the  Oxford  dons,  —  and 
his  muse  never  left  him  till  he  died  in  1864,  lacking 
four  months  only  of  his  ninetieth  birthday.  Seventy 
years  of  literary  life,  of  which  the  noteworthy  portion 
may  be  reckoned  from  the  appearance  of  "Gebir"  in 
1798,  to  that  of  the  later  series  of  the  "Hellenics"  in 
1847  :  since,  although  compositions  dating  the  very  year 
of  his  death  exhibit  no  falling  off,  and  his  faculty  was 
vigorous  to  the  end,  he  produced  no  important  work 
subsequent  to  the  one  last  mentioned.  His  collections 
of  later  poems  and  essays  are  of  a  miscellaneous  or 
fragmentary  sort,  and,  though  abounding  in  beautiful 
and  characteristic  material,  exhibit  many  trifles  which 
add  nothing  to  his  fame.  In  reviewing  his  career,  let 
us  first  look  at  his  poetry,  which  contains  the  key  to 
his  genius  and  aspirations. 

His  earliest  verses,  like  those  of  Shelley  and  Byron, 
have  a  stilted,  academic  flavor,  and,  though  witty  enough, 
were  instigated  by  youthful  conceit  and  abhorrence  of 
conventional  authority.  They  were  followed  by  a  red- 
hot  political  satire,  in  the  metre  and  diction  of  Pope. 
Thus  far,  nothing  remarkable  for  a  boy  of  nineteen : 
merely  an  illustration  of  the  law  that  "nearly  all  young- 
poets  .  .  .  .  write  old."1  The  great  poetic  revival  had 

1  Not  having  a  copy  of  Lander's  first  book,  I  have  taken  the 
description,  given  in  the  side-note,  from  Forster's  biography,  but 
am  informed  by  Mr.  Swinburne  that  Poems,  English  and  Latin,  is 
the  correct  title.  My  correspondent  adds :  "  It  contains  a  good 
deal  besides  satire,  though  that  is  perhaps  its  best  part.  The 
Epistle  to  Lord  Stanhope,  which  I  have  also,  h,  I  think,  some 
thing  remarkable  for  a  boy  of  nineteen,  —  singularly  polished  and 
vigorous." 


j 


book:   "The 
Poems  of 
W".  S.  L." 
1795- 


"A  Moral 
Epistle  to 
Earl  Stan 
hope" 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


not  begun.  Burns  was  still  almost  unknown ;  Cowper 
very  faintly  heard ;  fledglings  tried  their  wings  in  the 
direction  of  Pope,  Warton,  and  Gray.  The  art  of  verse, 
the  creation  of  beauty  for  its  own  sake  or  for  that  of 
imaginative  expression,  at  first  took  small  hold  upon 
Landor.  Considering  the  era,  it  is  wonderful  how 
soon  the  converse  of  this  was  true.  Three  years  to  a 
young  man  are  more  than  three  times  three  in  after 
life  ;  but  never  was  there  a  swifter  stride  made  than 
from  Lander's  prentice-work  to  Gebir >  which  dis 
played  his  royal  poetic  genius  in  full  robes.  Where 
now  be  his  politics  and  polemics?  Henceforth  his 
verse,  for  the  most  part,  is  wedded  to  pure  beauty,  and 
prose  becomes  the  vehicle  of  his  critical  or  controver 
sial  thought.  In  "Gebir,"  art,  treatment,  imagination, 
are  everything ;  argument  very  little ;  the  story  is  of  a 
remote,  Oriental  nature,  a  cord  upon  which  he  strings 
his  extraordinary  language,  imagery,  and  versification. 
The  structure  is  noble  in  the  main,  though  chargeable, 
like  Tennyson's  earlier  poetry,  with  vagueness  here  and 
there ;  the  diction  is  majestic  and  sonorous,  and  its 
progress  is  specially  marked  by  sudden,  almost  ran 
dom,  outbursts  of  lofty  song.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  this  epic,  as  poetry,  and  as  a  marvelous  produc 
tion  for  the  period  and  for  Landor's  twenty-two  years, 
stands  next  to  that  renowned  and  unrivaled  torso,  com 
posed  so  long  afterward,  the  "Hyperion"  of  John  Keats. 
It  was  the  prototype  of  our  modern  formation,  cropping 
out  a  great  distance  in  advance.  To  every  young  poet 
who  has  yet  his  art  to  learn,  I  would  say  —  do  not 
overlook  "  Gebir,"  this  strangely  modern  poem,  which, 
though  seventy-five  years  old,  has  so  much  of  Tenny 
son's  finish,  of  Arnold's  objectivity,  and  the  romance 
of  Morris  and  Keats.  Forster,  Landor's  biographer, 


says  that  it  is  now  unknown.  When  was  it  ever  known  ? 
The  first  edition  had  little  sale ;  a  sumptuous  later 
issue,  including  the  Latin  translation  "Gebirus,"  had 
still  less.  But  the  poets  found  it  out;  it  was  the 
envy  of  Byron;  the  despair  of  Southey,  who  could 
appreciate,  if  he  could  not  create;  the  bosom-com 
panion  of  Shelley,  to  the  last;  nor  can  I  doubt  that, 
directly  and  indirectly,  it  had  much  to  do  with  the 
inception  and  development  of  the  Victorian  School. 

In  recalling  Landor's  writings,  prose  and  verse,  I 
make  no  specific  allusion  to  the  minor  pieces  which 
he  composed  from  time  to  time,  careless  about  their 
reception,  easily  satisfied  with  the  expression  of  his 
latest  mood.  A  catalogue  of  them,  extending  from  the 
beginning  to  the  middle  of  our  century,  lies  before 
me :  The  Phoc&ans,  an  unfinished  epic ;  The  Charitable 
Dowager,  a  comedy  that  never  saw  the  light;  various 
Icelandic  poems,  all  save  one  of  which  are  wisely 
omitted  from  his  collected  works;  epigrams,  letters, 
critiques,  and  what  not ;  often  mere  Sibylline  leaves, 
—  sometimes  put  forth  in  obscurest  pamphlet-form, 
sometimes  elaborate  with  revision  and  costly  with  the 
utmost  resources  of  the  press ;  making  little  mark  at 
the  time,  but  all  idiosyncratic,  Landorian,  though  closer 
scrutiny  of  them  need  not  detain  us  here.  His  liter 
ary  life  was  like  the  firmament,  whose  darkest  openings 
are  interspersed  with  scattered  stars,  but  only  the 
luminous,  superior  constellations  herewith  invite  our 
regard.  His  first  dramatic  effort,  made  after  a  stormy 
and  ill-regulated  experience  of  fifteen  years,  was  the 
gloomy  but  magnificent  tragedy  of  Count  Julian. 
Like  Shelley's  "Cenci,"  Byron's  "Manfred,"  and  Cole 
ridge's  adaptation  of  "  Wallenstein,"  it  is  a  dramatic 
poem  rather  than  a  stage-drama  of  the  available  kind. 


Miscellane 
ous  produc 
tions. 


Dramatic 
work. 

"  Count  Ju 
lian"  1812. 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


Compared  with  kindred  productions  of  the  time,  how 
ever,  it  stands  like  the  "Prometheus"  among  classic 
plays ;  and  as  an  exposition  of  dramatic  force,  a  con 
ception  of  the  highest  manhood  in  the  most  heroic 
and  mournful  attitude,  —  as  a  presentment  of  impas 
sioned  language,  pathetic  sentiment,  and  stern  resolve, 
—  it  is  an  impressive  and  undying  poem.  Landor's 
career  must  be  measured  by  Olympiads  or  lustra,  not 
by  years ;  he  was  thirty-five  when  he  took  this  fearless 
dramatic  flight,  and  then,  save  for  occasional  fragmen 
tary  scenes,  his  special  faculty  remained  unused  until 
he  was  nearly  sixty-five,  in  1839-40,  at  which  date 
he  composed  and  published  his  Trilogy.  The  three 
plays  thus  grouped  —  "Andrea  of  Hungary,"  "  Gio- 
vanna  of  Naples,"  and  "  Fra  Rupert "  —  are,  except 
ing  the  one  previously  mentioned,  the  only  extended 
dramatic  poems  which  he  has  left  us.  Though  rarely 
so  imaginative  and  statuesque  as  "  Count  Julian,"  they 
are  better  adapted  in  action,  and  show  no  decline  of 
power.  Between  the  one  and  the  others  occurred  the 
marvellous  prose  period  of  Landor's  career,  by  which 
he  first  became  generally  known  and  upon  which  so 
largely  rests  his  fame.  From  1824  to  1837,  —  these 
thirteen  years  embrace  the  interval  during  which  was 
written  the  most  comprehensive  and  delightful  prose 
in  the  English  tongue,  upon  whose  every  page  is 
stamped  the  patent  of  the  author  as  a  sage  and  poet. 
One  is  more  nearly  drawn  to  Landor  —  with  the 
affection  which  all  lovers  of  beauty,  pure  and  simple, 
feel  for  the  poet  —  by  the  Hellenics  than  by  any 
other  portion  of  his  metrical  work.  The  volume  bear 
ing  that  name  was  written  when  he  was  well  past  the 
Scriptural  limit  of  life,  at  the  age  of  seventy-two,  and 
published  in  1847.  It  consisted  of  translations  from 


THE  ^  HELLENICS: 


43 


his  own  Idyllia  Heroica :  Latin  poems  (many  of  them 
composed  and  printed  forty  years  earlier)  which  were 
finally  collected  and  revised  for  publication  in  a  little 
volume,  Pocmata  et  Inscriptiones,  which  appeared,  I 
think,  in  1846.  Of  Landor's  aptitude  and  passion  for 
writing  in  Latin  verse  I  shall  speak  hereafter.  His 
sin  in  this  respect  (if  it  be  a  sin),1  is  amply  expiated 
by  the  surpassing  beauty  of  "  Corythus,"  the  "  Last  of 
Ulysses,"  and  other  translations  from  the  "  Idyllia." 
Still  more  exquisite,  if  possible,  are  the  fifteen  idyls, 
also  called  Hellenics,  which  previously  had  been  col 
lected  in  the  standard  octavo  edition  of  his  works, 
edited  by  Julius  Hare  and  John  Forster,  and  printed 
in  1846.  During  the  past  thirty  years  a  taste  for 
experimenting  with  classical  themes  has  seized  upon 
many  a  British  poet,  and  numberless  fine  studies  have 
been  the  result,  from  the  "  CEnone  "  and  "Tithonus" 
of  the  laureate  to  more  extended  pieces,  —  like  the 
"Andromeda"  of  Kingsley,  and  Swinburne's  "Ata- 
lanta  in  Calydon."  But  to  Landor,  from  his  youth, 
the  antique  loveliness  was  a  familiar  atmosphere,  in 
which  he  dwelt  and  had  his  being  with  a  contentment 
so  natural  that  he  scarcely  perceived  it  was  not  com 
mon  to  others,  or  thought  to  avail  himself  of  it  in 
the  way  of  metrical  art.  Finding  that  people  could 
not,  or  would  not,  read  the  "  Idyllia,"  he  was  led  to 
translate  them  into  English  verse ;  and  of  all  the 
classical  pieces  in  our  language,  his  own,  taken  as 
a  whole,  are  the  most  varied,  natural,  simple,  least 
affected  with  foreign  forms  :  — 

"  Sweet,  sweet,  sweet,  O  Pan ! 
Piercing  sweet  by  the  river." 


1  See  remarks  upon  Swinburne's  Greek  and  Latin  verse,  etc., 
in  Chapter  XL  of  this  book. 


44 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


Generally  they  are  idyllic,  and  after  the  Sicilian 
school.  Now  and  then  some  Homeric  epithets  ap 
pear;  as  where  he  speaks  of  "full  fifty  slant-browed, 
kingly-hearted  swine,"  —  but  such  examples  are  un 
common.  For  the  most  part  the  Greek  manner  and 
feeling  are  veritably  translated.  "  The  Hamadryad " 
is  universally  known,  —  possessed  of  delicious  melody 
and  pathos  which  commend  it  to  the  multitude :  I  am 
not  sure  that  any  other  ancient  story,  so  tranquilly 
and  beautifully  told,  is  in  our  treasury  of  English 
song.  The  overture  to  the  first  of  the  "Hellenics" 
suggests  the  charm  and  purpose  of  them  all :  — 

"  Who  will  away  to  Athens  with  me  ?  who 
Loves   choral  songs  and  maidens  crowned  with  flowers, 
Unenvious?  mount  the  pinnace;  hoist  the  sail." 

That  splendid  apostrophe  to  liberty,  the  fifteenth 
of  the  first  series,  beginning, 

"  We  are  what  suns  and  winds  and  waters  make  us ; 
The  mountains  are  our  sponsors,  and  the  rills 
Fashion  and  win  their  nursling  with  their  smiles," 

recalls  the  Hellenic  spirit  from  its  grave,  and  brings 
these  antique  creations  within  the  range  of  modern 
thought  and  sympathy.  In  fine,  it  must  be  acknowl 
edged  that  for  tender  grace,  sunlight,  healthfulness, 
these  idyls  are  fresh  beyond  comparison,  the  inspira 
tion  of  immortal  youth.  Never  have  withered  hands 
more  bravely  swept  the  lyre. 

Landor,  as  I  have  said,  was  noticeable  among  recent 
poets  as  an  artist,  and  the  earliest  to  revive  the  par 
tially  forgotten  elegance  of  English  verse.  Whoever 
considers  the  metrical  product  of  our  era  must  con 
stantly  bear  in  mind  the  stress  laid  upon  the  technics 
of  the  poet's  calling.  No  shiftlessness  has  been  tol- 


A   FAULTLESS  AND  PROLIFIC  ARTIST. 


45 


crated,  and  Landor  was  the  first  to  honor  his  work 
with  all  the  finish  that  a  delicate  ear  and  faultless 
touch  could  bestow  upon  it.  But  in  observing  the 
perfection  of  the  "Hellenics,"  for  example,  you  dis 
cern  at  a  glance  that  it  is  only  what  was  natural  to 
him  and  reached  by  the  first  intention  ;  that  he  falsi 
fied  the  distich  with  reference  to  easy  writing  and 
hard  reading,  and  composed  admirably  at  first  draught. 
By  way  of  contrast,  one  sees  that  much  of  the  famous 
poetry  of  the  day  has  been  carved  with  pains,  "labo 
rious,  orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere."  The  morning 
grandeur  of  "Count  Julian"  and  "  Gebir,"  and  the 
latter-day  grace  of  Lander's  idyls  and  lyrics,  came  to 
their  author  as  he  went  along.  A  poor  workman 
blames  his  tools ;  but  he  was  so  truly  an  artist  and 
poet,  that  he  took  the  nearest  instrument  which  sug 
gested  itself,  and  wrought  out  his  conceptions  to  his 
own  satisfaction,  —  somewhat  too  careless,  it  must  be 
owned,  whether  others  relished  them  or  not.  At 
certain  times,  from  the  accident  of  study  and  early 
training,  his  thoughts  ran  as  freely  in  Latin  numbers 
as  in  English;  and,  without  considering  the  utter 
uselessness  of  such  labor,  he  persisted  in  writing 
Latin  verses,  to  the  alternate  amusement  and  indig 
nation  of  his  friends;  always  quite  at  ease  in  either 
language,  strong,  melodious,  and  full  of  humor,  — 
"strength's  rich  superfluity."  The  famous  shell-pas 
sage  in  "  Gebir "  was  written  first  in  Latin,  and  more 
musically  than  its  translation.  Compare  the  latter 
with  the  counterpart  in  Wordsworth's  "Excursion," 
and  determine,  —  not  which  of  the  two  poets  had  the 
profounder  nature,  —  but  which  was  Apollo's  darling 
and  the  more  attractively  endowed.  Landor's  blank 
verse,  the  test  of  an  English  singer,  is  like  nothing 


His  blank 
verse. 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LAND  OR. 


before  it ;  but  that  of  Tennyson  and  his  followers 
resembles  it,  by  adoption  and  development.  Like 
the  best  pentameter  of  the  present  day,  it  is  akin  to 
Milton's ;  affected,  like  his,  by  classical  influence, 
but  rather  of  the  Greek  than  the  Latin ;  more  closely 
assimilated  to  the  genius  of  our  tongue  and  with 
fewer  inversions ;  terse,  yet  fluent,  assonant,  harmo 
nious.  Grace  and  nobility  are  its  prominent  char 
acteristics. 

Lander's  affluence  embarrassed  him.  He  had  noth 
ing  costive  in  his  nature,  —  disdained  the  tricks  of 
smaller  men,  and  could  not  spend  days  upon  a  son 
net  ;  it  must  come  at  once,  and  perfect,  or  not  at  all. 
He  was  a  Fortunatus,  and,  because  the  ten  pieces  of 
gold  were  always  by  him,  delayed  to  bring  together 
a  store  of  poetry  for  his  own  renown.  This  was  one 
secret  of  his  leaving  so  few  extended  compositions ; 
other  reasons  will  be  named  hereafter ;  meantime  it  is 
certain  that  he  never  hoarded  and  fondled  his  qua 
trains,  and  that  there  was  no  waste,  the  supply  being 
infinite.  The  minor  lyrics,  epigrams,  fragments,  — 
thrown  off  during  his  capricious  life,  in  which  every 
mood  was  indulged  to  the  full  and  every  lot  experi 
enced, —  are  numberless;  sometimes  frivolous  enough, 
biting  and  spleenful,  yet  bearing  the  mark  of  a  deli 
cate  hand ;  often,  like  "  Rose  Aylmer,"  possessed  of 
an  ethereal  pathos,  a  dying  fall,  upon  which  poets 
have  lived  for  weeks  and  which  haunt  the  soul  for 
ever.  Ideality  belonged  to  Landor  throughout  life ; 
for  seventy  years  he  reminds  one  of  the  girl  in  the 
fairy-tale,  who  could  not  speak  without  dropping 
pearls  and  diamonds.  A  volume  might  be  made  of 
the  lyrical  gems  with  which  even  his  prose  writings 
are  interspersed.  He  had  an  aptitude  for  the  largest 


HIS  DRAMATIC  FACULTY. 


47 


and  smallest  work,  the  true  Shakespearian  range ;  and 
could  make  anything  in  poetry,  from  the  posy  of  a 
ring  to  the  chronicle  of  its  most  heroic  wearer. 

While  Lander's  art  is  thus  varied  and  original,  his 
strongest  hold  —  the  natural  bent  of  his  imagination 
—  lay,  as  I  have  suggested,  in  the  direction  of  the 
drama.  This  he  himself  felt  and  often  expressed ; 
yet  his  dramatic  works  are  only  enough  to  show  what 
things  he  might  have  accomplished,  under  the  favor 
able  conditions  of  a  sympathetic  age.  Few  modern 
poets  have  done  much  more.  Procter,  Taylor,  Bed- 
does,  Browning,  —  his  dramatic  compeers  can  almost 
be  numbered  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  I  am  not 
speaking  of  the  playwrights.  Had  he  written  many 
dramas,  doubtless  they  would  have  been  of  the  Eliz 
abethan  style :  objective  rather  than  subjective ;  their 
personages  distinct  in  manner,  language,  and  action, 
though  not  brought  under  the  close  psychological 
analysis  which  is  a  feature  of  our  modern  school. 
We  have  substituted  the  novel  for  the  drama,  yet, 
were  Shakespeare  now  alive,  he  might  write  novels  — 
and  he  might  not.  Possibly,  like  Landor,  he  would 
be  repelled  by  the  mummery  of  the  plot,  which  in  the 
novel  must  be  so  much  more  minutely  developed  than 
in  a  succession  of  stage-scenes.  Landor  might  have 
constructed  a  grand  historical  romance,  or  a  respect 
able  novel,  but  he  never  attempted  either.  Had  the 
stage  demanded  and  recompensed  the  labor  of  the 
best  minds,  he  would  have  written  plays,  doing  even 
the  "  business "  well ;  for  he  had  the  intellect  and 
faculty,  and  touched  nothing  without  adorning  it.  As 
it  was,  the  plot  seemed,  in  his  view,  given  up  to  char 
latans  and  hacks ;  he  had  small  patience  with  it, 
because,  not  writing  in  regular  course  for  the  theatre, 


Dramatic 

faculty. 


48 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


His  restric 
tions. 


the  framework  of  a  drama  did  not  come  from  him 
spontaneously.  His  tragedies  already  named,  and 
various  fragments,  —  "Ippolito  di  Este,"  "Ines  de 
Castro,"  "The  Cenci,"  and  " Cleopatra,"  —  are  to  be 
regarded  as  dramatic  studies,  and  are  replete  with 
evidences  of  inspiration  and  tragic  power.  Some 
times  a  passage  like  this,  from  "  Fra  Rupert,"  has  the 
strength  and  fire  of  Webster,  in  "The  Duchess  of 
Main":  — 

Worst  of  it  all 


The  queen's  ? 

They  stifled  her 

Who  says  that? 


"  Stephen. 
Is  the  queen's  death. 

Maximin. 

Stephen. 
With  her  own  pillow. 

Maximin. 

Stephen.  The  man 

Runs  wild  who  did  it,  through  the  streets,  and  howls  it, 
Then  imitates  her  voice,  and  softly  sobs, 
'  Lay  me  in  Santa  Chiara?  " 

We  say  that  Landor  was  an  independent  singer, 
but  once  more  the  inevitable  law  obtains.  He  was 
restricted  by  his  period,  which  afforded  him  neither 
poetical  themes  most  suited  to  his  intellect,  nor  the 
method  of  expression  in  which  he  could  attain  a  full 
development.  He  had  little  outside  stimulus  to  fre 
quent  work.  In  his  youth  the  serial  market  was 
limited  to  The  Gentleman's  Magazine  and  the  preten 
tious  quarterly  reviews.  His  early  poems  did  not  sell : 
they  were  in  advance  of  the  contemporary  demand. 
In  poetry,  let  us  confess  that  he  fell  short  of  his  own 
standard,  —  never  so  well  defined  as  in  "  The  Pen- 
tameron "  :  "Amplitude  of  dimensions  is  requisite  to 
constitute  the  greatness  of  a  poet,  besides  his  sym 
metry  of  form  and  his  richness  of  decoration 

We  may  write  little  things  well,  and  accumulate  one 


HIS  PROSE    WRITINGS. 


49 


upon  another;  but  never  will  any  justly  be  called  a 
great  poet,  unless  he  has  treated  a  great  subject  wor 
thily A  throne  is  not  built  of  bird's-nests,  nor 

do  a  thousand  reeds  make  a  trumpet."  The  one 
great  want  of  many  a  master-mind  oppressed  him, — 
lack  of  theme.  Better  fitted  to  study  things  at  a  dis 
tance,  always  an  idealist  and  dreaming  of  some  large 
achievement,  Landor,  with  his  imaginative  force  un 
met  by  any  commensurate  task,  wandered  like  "blind 
Orion,  hungry  for  the  morn."  Or,  like  that  other 
hapless  giant,  he  groped  right  and  left,  but  needed 
a  guide  to  direct  his  strong  arms  to  the  pillars,  that 
he  might  bow  himself  indeed  and  put  forth  all  his 
powers. 

How  great  these  were  the  world  had  never  known, 
were  it  not  for  that  interlude  of  prose  composition 
which  occupied  a  portion  of  the  years  between  his 
early  and  later  work.  From  youth  his  letters,  often 
essays  and  reviews  in  themselves,  to  his  selectest 
intellectual  companions,  exhibit  him  as  a  splendid 
artist  in  prose  and  a  learned  and  accurate  thinker. 
He  had  been  drinking  the  wine  of  life,  reading,  re 
flecting,  studying  "cities  of  men  ....  and  climates, 
councils,  governments,"  at  Tours,  Como,  Pisa,  Flor 
ence,  Bath;  and,  at  the  age  of  forty-five  or  forty-six, 
with  every  faculty  matured,  he  became  suddenly  aware 
of  the  fitness  of  written  dialogue  as  the  vehicle  of 
his  conceptions,  and  for  the  exercise  of  that  dra 
matic  tendency  which  had  thus  far  found  no  practi 
cable  outlet.  Forster  has  pointed  out  that  this  form 
of  literature  was  suited  alike  to  his  strength,  dogma 
tism,  and  variety  of  mood.  The  idea,  once  conceived, 
was  realized  with  his  usual  impetuosity.  It  swelled 
and  swelled,  drawing  up  the  thought  and  observation 
3  D 


Lack  of 
theme. 


Greatness  as 
a  "writer  of 
English 
prose. 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LAND  OR. 


The  "Im 
aginary 
Conversa 
tions"  1824. 


of  a  lifetime ;  in  two  years  the  first  and  second  books 
of  Imaginary  Conversations  were  given  to  the  world, 
and  in  four  more,  six  volumes  in  all  had  been  com 
pleted.  For  the  first  time  the  English  people  were 
dazzled  and  affected  by  this  author's  genius ;  the 
books  were  a  success ;  and  all  citizens  of  the  republic 
of  letters  discovered,  what  a  few  choice  spirits  had 
known  before,  that  Landor  was  their  peer  and  master. 

It  is  needless  to  eulogize  the  series  of  "Imaginary 
Conversations,"  —  to  which  the  poet  kept  adding,  as 
the  fancy  seized  him,  until  the  year  of  his  decease, 
within  the  memory  of  us  all.  They  have  passed  into 
literature,  and  their  influence  and  charm  are  undying. 
They  are  an  encyclopaedia,  a  panoramic  museum,  a 
perpetual  drama,  a  changeful  world  of  fancy,  char 
acter,  and  action.  Their  learning  covers  languages, 
histories,  inventions ;  their  thought  discerns  and  an 
alyzes  literature,  art,  poetry,  philosophy,  manners,  life, 
government,  religion,  —  everything  to  which  human 
faculties  have  applied  themselves,  which  eye  has  seen, 
ear  has  heard,  or  the  heart  of  man  conceived.  Their 
personages  are  as  noble  as  those  of  Sophocles,  as 
sage  and  famous  as  Plutarch's,  as  varied  as  those  of 
Shakespeare  himself:  comprising  poets,  wits,  orators, 
soldiers,  statesmen,  monarchs,  fair  women  and  brave 
men.  Through  them  all,  among  them  all,  breathes  the 
spirit  of  Landor,  and  above  them  waves  his  compel 
ling  wand.  Where  his  subjectivity  becomes  apparent, 
it  is  in  a  serene  and  elevated  mood ;  for  he  is  trav 
ersing  the  realm  of  the  ideal,  his  better  angel  rules  the 
hour,  and  the  man  is  transfigured  in  the  magician  and 
poet. 

Paulo  majora  canamus.  From  the  exhaustless  re 
sources  of  Landor's  imagination,  he  was  furthermore 


A    TRINITY  OF  PROSE-POEMS. 


enabled  to  construct  a  trinity  of  prose-poems,  not  frag 
mentary  episodes  or  dialogues,  but  round  and  perfect 
compositions,  —  each  of  them  finished  and  artistic  in 
the  extreme  degree.  The  Citation  of  Shakespeare,  the 
Pentameron,  and  Pericles  and  Aspasia  depict  England, 
Italy,  and  Greece  at  their  renowned  and  character 
istic  periods :  the  greenwood  and  castle-halls  of  Eng 
land,  the  villas  and  cloisters  of  Italy,  the  sky  and 
marbles  of  ancient  Greece;  the  pedantry  and  poetry 
of  the  first,  the  mysticism  of  the  second,  the  deathless 
grace  and  passion  of  Athens  at  her  prime.  Of  "The 
Citation  and  Examination  of  William  Shakespeare, 
etc.,  etc.,  Touching  Deer-Stealing,"  I  can  but  repeat 
what  Charles  Lamb  said,  and  all  that  need  here  be 
said  of  it,  —  that  only  two  men  could  have  written 
it,  he  who  wrote  it,  and  the  man  it  was  written  on. 
It  can  only  be  judged  by  reading,  for  there  is  nothing 
resembling  it  in  any  tongue.  "The  Pentameron"  (of 
Boccaccio  and  Petrarca)  was  the  last  in  date  of 
these  unique  conceptions,  and  the  favorite  of  Hunt, 
Crabb  Robinson,  Disraeli;  a  mediaeval  reproduction, 
the  tone  of  which  —  while  always  in  keeping  with 
itself  — is  so  different  from  that  of  the  "Citation," 
that  one  would  think  it  done  by  another  hand,  if  any 
other  hand  were  capable  of  doing  it.  Even  to  those 
who  differ  with  its  estimation  of  Dante,  its  learning, 
fidelity,  and  picturesqueness  seem  admirable  beyond 
comparison.  The  highest  luxury  of  a  sensitive,  cul 
tured  mind  is  the  perusal  of  a  work  like  this.  Mrs. 
Browning  found  some  of  its  pages  too  delicious  tc 
turn  over.  Yet  this  study  had  been  preceded  by  the 
"Pericles  and  Aspasia,"  which,  as  an  exhibition  oi 
intellectual  beauty,  may  be  termed  the  masterpiece  of 
Lander's  whole  career. 


A  trinity  of 
•prose-poems. 


"  Citation  of 
Shake 
speare" 
1834. 


The  Pen- 
tameron" 
837- 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


"Pericles 
and  A  spa- 
sia,"  1836. 


Critics  are  not  wanting  who  maintain  "  Pericles  and 
Aspasia"  to  be  the  purest  creation  of  sustained  art  in 
English  prose.  It  is  absolutely  devoid  of  such  affec 
tations  as  mark  the  romances  and  treatises  of  Sidney, 
Browne,  and  many  famous  writers  of  the  early  and 
middle  periods ;  and  to  "  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  and 
other  classics  of  a  time  nearer  our  own,  it  bears  the 
relation  of  a  drama  to  an  eclogue,  or  that  of  a  sym 
phony  to  some  sweet  and  favorite  air.  What  flawless 
English !  what  vivid  scenery  and  movement !  Com 
posed  without  a  reference-book,  it  is  accurate  in  schol 
arship,  free  from  inconsistencies  as  Becker's  "Chari- 
cles";  nevertheless,  the  action  is  modern,  as  that  of 
every  golden  era  must  appear ;  the  personages,  whether 
indicated  lightly  or  at  full  length,  are  living  human 
beings  before  our  eyes.  As  all  sculpture  is  included 
in  the  Apollo  Belvedere,  so  all  Greek  life,  sunshine, 
air,  sentiment,  contribute  to  these  eloquent  epistles. 
A  rare  imagination  is  required  for  such  a  work.  While 
comparable  with  nothing  but  itself,  it  leaves  behind  it 
the  flavor  of  some  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  or 
"Winter's  Tale,"  maugre  the  unreality  and  anachro 
nisms.  Landor's  dainty  madrigals  are  scattered  through 
out,  coming  in  like  bird-songs  upon  the  sprightly  or 
philosophical  Athenian  converse:  here  we  find  "Arte- 
midora "  and  "  Aglae " ;  here,  too,  is  the  splendid 
fragment  of  "Agamemnon."  How  vividly  Alcibiades, 
Anaxagoras,  Socrates,  Pericles,  Aspasia,  appear  before 
us :  the  noonday  grace  and  glory,  the  indoor  banquet 
and  intellectual  feast !  We  exclaim,  not  only :  What 
rulers !  what  poets  and  heroes  !  but  —  What  children 
of  light !  what  laurelled  heads  !  what  lovers  —  what 
passionate  hearts!  How  modern,  how  intense,  how 
human!  what  beauty,  what  delicacy,  what  fire!  We 


<  PERICLES  AND  ASP  ASIA: 


53 


penetrate  the  love  of  high-bred  men  and  women :  nobles 
by  nature  and  rank; — surely  finer  subjects  for  realistic 
treatment  than  the  boor  and  the  drudge.  Where  both 
are  equally  natural,  I  would  rather  contemplate  a 
horse  or  a  falcon,  than  the  newt  and  the  toad.  Thus 
far,  I  am  sure,  one  may  cariy  the  law  of  aristocracy  in 
art.  The  people  of  this  book  are  brave,  wise,  and 
beautiful,  or  at  least  fitly  adapted:  some  unhappy, — 
others,  under  whatsoever  misfortune,  enraptured,  be 
cause  loving  and  beloved.  Never  were  women  more 
tenderly  depicted.  Aspasia,  with  all  her  love  of  glory, 
confesses :  "  You  men  often  talk  of  glorious  death,  of 
death  met  bravely  for  your  country;  I  too  have  been 
warmed  by  the  bright  idea  in  oratory  and  poetry :  but 
ah!  my  dear  Pericles!  I  would  rather  read  it  on  an 
ancient  tomb  than  a  recent  one."  Again,  in  the  midst 
of  their  splendor  and  luxury,  she  exclaims:  "When 
the  war  is  over,  as  surely  it  must  be  in  another  year, 
let  us  sail  among  the  islands  ^gean  and  be  as  young 
as  ever ! "  Just  before  the  death  of  Pericles  by  the 
plague,  amid  thickening  calamities,  they  write  trage 
dies  and  study  letters  and  art.  All  is  heroic  and 
natural :  they  turn  from  grand  achievements  to  the 
delights  of  intellect  and  affection.  Where  is  another 
picture  so  elevating  as  this?  Fame,  power,  luxury,  are 
forgotten  in  the  sympathy  and  glorious  communion  of 
kindred  souls.  Where  is  one  so  fitted  to  reconcile  us 
with  death,  —  the  end  of  all  such  communings,  —  the 
common  lot,  from  which  even  these  beautiful  ideals 
are  not  exempt  ?  Ay,  their  deaths,  in  the  midst  of  so 
much  that  made  life  peerless  and  worth  living,  follow 
each  other  in  pathetic,  yet  not  inharmonious  succes 
sion,  like  the  silvery  chimings  of  a  timepiece  at  the 
close  of  a  summer's  day. 


A  ristocrat- 
istn  in  art. 


54 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


Study  of 
Lander's 
personal  his 
tory. 


"Pericles  and  Aspasia"  is  a  Greek  temple,  with 
frieze  and  architrave  complete.  If  it  be  not  Athens, 
it  is  what  we  love  to  think  Athens  must  have  been, 
in  the  glory  of  Pericles'  last  days.  It  is  a  thing  of 
beauty  for  all  places  and  people  ;  for  the  deep-read 
man  of  thought  and  experience,  for  the  dreamy  youth 
or  maiden  in  the  farthest  Western  wilds.  The  form 
is  that  of  prose,  simple  and  translucent,  yet  it  is  a 
poem  from  beginning  to  end.  I  would  test  the  fabric 
of  a  person's  temper  by  his  appreciation  of  such  a 
book.  If  only  one  work  of  an  author  were  given  as 
a  companion,  many  would  select  this :  not  alone  for 
its  wisdom,  eloquence,  and  beauty,  but  for  its  pathos 
and  affection.  You  can  read  it  again  and  again, 
and  ever  most  delightfully.  The  "Citation"  and  the 
"  Pentameron "  must  be  studied  with  the  scholar's 
anointed  eyes,  and  are  sealed  to  the  multitude ;  but 
"  Pericles  and  Aspasia "  is  clear  as  noonday,  a  book 
for  thinkers,  —  but  a  book  for  lovers  also,  and  should 
be  as  immortal  as  the  currents  which  flow  between 
young  hearts. 

II. 

THERE  has  been  much  confusion  of  Lander's  per 
sonal  history  with  his  writings,  and  an  inclination  to 
judge  the  latter  by  the  former.  The  benison  of  Time 
enables  us,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  to  discriminate 
between  the  two ;  while  the  punishment  of  a  misgov 
erned  career  is  that  it  hinders  even  the  man  of  genius 
from  being  justified  during  his  lifetime.  However, 
before  further  consideration  of  Landor's  works, — that 
we  may  see  what  bearing  the  one  had  on  the  other, 
and  with  this  intention  solely,  —  let  us  observe  the 
man  himself. 


HIS  PERSONAL  HISTORY  AND  CHARACTER. 


55 


We  need  not  rehearse  the  story  of  his  prolonged, 
adventurous  life.  It  was  what  might  be  expected  of 
such  a  character,  and  to  speak  of  the  one  is  to  infer 
the  other.  Frea's  address  to  her  liege,  in  Arnold's 
"  Balder  Dead,"  occurs  to  me  as  I  think  of  the  hoary 
poet.  "  Odin,  thou  Whirlwind,"  he  was,  forsooth  :  tem 
pestuous,  swift  of  will ;  an  egotist  without  vanity,  but 
equally  without  reason ;  impatient  of  fools  and  upstarts ; 
so  intellectually  proud,  that  he  suspected  lesser  minds 
of  lowering  him  to  their  own  level,  when  they  honestly 
admired  his  works ;  scornful,  yet  credulous ;  careless 
of  his  enemies,  too  often  suspicious  of  his  friends;  a 
law  unto  himself,  even  to  the  extreme  fulfilment  of  his 
most  erratic  impulse ;  enamored  of  liberty,  yet  not  sel 
dom  confounding  it  with  license ;  loving  the  beautiful 
with  his  whole  soul,  but  satisfied  no  less  with  the  con 
scious  power  of  creating  than  with  its  exercise.  Such 
was  Landor,  though  quite  transfigured,  I  say,  when 
absorbed  in  the  process  of  his  art.  Every  inspired 
artist  has  a  double  existence :  his  "  life  is  twofold," 
and  the  nobler  one  is  that  by  which  he  should  be 
judged. 

And  yet,  our  poet's  temperament  was  so  extraordi 
nary  that  it  is  no  less  a  study  than  his  productions. 
He  was  wayward,  unrestful,  full-veined,  impetuous  to 
the  very  end.  Nothing  but  positive  inability  restrained 
him  from  gratifying  a  single  passion  or  caprice.  His 
nature  was  so  buoyant  that,  like  the  Faun,  he  forgot 
both  pain  and  pleasure,  and  had  few  stings  of  sorrow 
or  regret  to  guard  him  from  fresh  woes  and  errors. 
As  he  learned  nothing  from  experience,  his  life  was 
one  perpetual  series  of  escapades,  —  of  absurd  per 
plexities  at  Rftgby,  Oxford,  Llanthony,  and  in  foreign 
lands.  Even  in  art  he  often  seemed  like  a  wind-harp, 


His  para 
doxical  tem 
perament. 


Extraordi 
nary  dispo 
sition  and 
career. 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR, 


responding  to  every  breath  that  stirred  his  being:  a 
superb  voice  executing  voluntaries  and  improvisations, 
but  disinclined  to  synthetic  utterance.  He  lacked  that 
guiding  force  which  is  gained  only  by  the  wisest  disci 
pline,  the  most  beneficent  influences  in  youth  :  —  under 
such  influences  this  grand  character  might  have  been 
strong  and  perfect,  but  his  fortunes  served  to  lessen 
the  completeness  of  his  genius.  The  author's  tradi 
tional  restrictions  were  wanting  in  Lander's  case.  He 
stood  first  in  the  entail  of  a  liberal  estate,  and  self- 
control  was  never  imposed  upon  him.  One  great  gift 
denied  to  him  was  the  suspicion  of  his  own  mortality. 
It  has  been  rightly  said  that  he  and  his  brothers 
came  of  a  race  of  giants.  His  physical  health  and 
strength  were  so  absolute,  that  no  fear  of  the  short 
ness  of  life  was  present  to  stimulate  his  ambition.  He 
needed,  like  the  imperator,  some  faithful  slave  to  whis 
per  in  his  ear,  Remember  that  thou  too  art  mortal ! 
His  tendencies  never  were  evil,  but  in  their  violence 
illustrated  Fourier's  theory  of  the  reverse  action  of 
the  noblest  passions.  More  than  all  else,  it  was  this 
lack  of  self-restraint  that  made  the  infinite  difference 
between  himself  and  the  great  master  to  whose  univer 
sality  of  genius  his  own  was  most  akin. 

Had  Landor  been  poor,  had  he  felt  some  thorn  in 
the  flesh  —  but  he  was  more  handicapped  at  the  out 
set  with  wealth  and  health  than  Wordsworth  with 
poverty  or  Hood  with  want  and  disease.  Born  a 
patrician,  his  caste  was  assured,  and  his  actions  were 
of  that  defiant,  democratic  kind,  upon  which  snobs 
and  parvenus  dare  not  venture.  He  scattered  his 
wealth  as  he  chose,  and  would  not  let  his  station 
restrict  him  from  the  experiences  of  the  poor.  The 
audacious  conceptions  of  novelists  were  realized  in 


HIS  UNCONVENTIONALISM. 


57 


his  case.  It  was  impossible  to  make  him  a  conven 
tional  respecter  of  persons  and  temporal  things.  If 
ever  a  man  looked  through  and  through  clothes  and 
titles,  Landor  did ;  and  as  for  property,  —  it  seemed 
to  him  impedimenta  and  perishable  stuff.  Yet  he  loved 
luxury,  and  was  uncomfortable  when  deprived  of  it. 
Determined,  first  of  all,  to  live  his  life,  to  enjoy  and 
develop  every  gift  and  passion,  he  touched  life  at  more 
points  than  do  most  men  of  letters.  Possibly  he  had 
not  the  self-denial  of  those  exalted  devotees,  who  eat, 
marry,  and  live  for  art  alone.  The  lust  of  the  flesh, 
the  lust  of  the  eye,  and  the  pride  of  life  were  strong 
within  him.  Here  he  resembled  Byron  and  Alfieri, — 
to  whom  he  was  otherwise  related,  except  that  his 
heart  was  too  warm  and  light  for  the  vulgar  misan 
thropy  of  the  first,  and  his  blood  too  clean  and  health 
ful  for  the  grosser  passions  of  either. 

Trouble  bore  lightly  enough  upon  a  man  who  so 
readily  forgot  the  actual  world,  that  we  find  him  writ 
ing  Latin  idyls  just  after  his  first  flight  from  his  wife, 
or  turning  an  epigram  when  his  estate  was  ruined 
forever.  Inconstant  upon  the  slightest  cause,  he  yet 
was  faithful  to  certain  life-long  friends,  and,  if  one 
suffered  never  so  little  for  his  sake,  was  ready  to 
yield  life  or  fortune  in  return.  Such  was  his  feeling 
toward  Robert.  Landor,  Forster,  Southey,  Browning, 
and  the  great  novelist  who  drew  that  genial  caricature 
by  which  his  likeness  is  even  now  most  widely  known. 
Dickens,  who  of  all  men  was  least  fit  to  pronounce 
judgment  upon  Lander's  work,  and  cared  the  least  to 
do  it,  was  of  all  most  fit  to  estimate  his  strength  and 
.weakness,  his  grim  and  gentle  aspects.  In  "  Boy- 
thorn  "  we  hear  his  laugh  rising  higher,  peal  on  peal ; 
we  almost  see  his  leonine  face  and  lifted  brow,  the 
3* 


No  respecter 
of  persons. 


Buoyancy  of 
tempera 
ment. 


Dickens's 
portrait  of 
him  in 
"Bleak 
House" 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


strong  upper  lip,  the  clear  gray  eye,  and  ineffably 
sweet  and  winsome  smile.  We  listen  to  his  thousand 
superlatives  of  affection,  compliment,  or  wrath,  and 
know  them  to  be  the  safety-valves  of  a  nature  over 
charged  with  "  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn, 
the  love  of  love  " ;  of  a  poet  and  hero  in  the  extreme, 
who  only  needed  the  self-training  that  with  years 
should  bring  the  philosophic  mind. 

His  prose  writings  measurably  reflect  his  tempera 
ment,  though  he  is  at  special  pains  to  disclaim  it. 
His  minor  epigrams  and  lyrics  go  still  further  in  this 
direction,  and  were  the  means  of  working  off  his  sur 
plus  energy  of  humor,  sympathy,  or  dislike.  The  mo 
ment  he  regarded  men  and  things  objectively,  he  was 
the  wisest  of  his  kind;  and  some  fine  instinct  mostly 
kept  him  objective  in  his  poetry,  while  his  personality 
expended  itself  in  acts  and  conversation.  If  he  sel 
dom  did  "  a  wise  thing,"  he  as  seldom  wrote  "  a  fool 
ish  one."  Entering  upon  his  volumes,  we  are  in  the 
domain  of  the  pure  serene ;  and  his  glorious  faculties 
of  scholarship  and  song  compensate  us  for  that  of 
which  his  nature  had  too  little  and  that  of  which  it 
wantoned  in  excess. 

Many  texts  could  be  found  in  Lander's  career  for 
an  essay  upon  amateurship  in  literature  or  art.  As  a 
rule,  distrust  the  quality  of  that  product  which  is  not 
the  result  of  legitimate  professional  labor.  Art  must 
be  followed  as  a  means  of  subsistence  to  render  its  cre 
ations  worthy,  to  give  them  a  human  element.  Poetry 
is  an  unsubstantial  worldly  support ;  but  true  poets 
have  frequently  secluded  themselves,  like  Milton,  Cow- 
per,  and  Wordsworth,  so  that  their  simple  wants  were 
supplied ;  or,  plunging  into  life,  have  still  made  labor 
with  the  pen  —  writing  for  the  stage  or  the  press  —  a 


AMATEURSHIP  IN  ART. 


59 


means  of  living,  enjoying  the  pleasure  which  comes 
from  being  in  harness  and  from  duty  squarely  per 
formed.  They  plume  themselves  —  et  ego  in  Arcadia 
—  upon  sharing  not  only  the  transports,  but  the  drudg 
ery  of  the  literary  guild.  Generally,  I  say,  distrust 
writers  who  come  not  in  by  the  strait  gate,  but  clamber 
over  the  wall  of  amateurship.  Literary  men,  who  have 
had  both  genius  and  a  competence,  have  so  felt  this 
that  they  have  insisted  upon  the  uttermost  farthing  for 
their  work,  thus  maintaining,  though  at  the  expense  of 
a  reputation  for  avarice,  the  dignity  of  the  profession, 
and  legitimizing  their  own  connection  with  it.  This 
Landor  was  never  able  to  do :  his  writing  either  was 
not  remunerative,  because  not  open  to  popular  sympa 
thy,  or  unsympathetic  because  not  remunerative ;  at  all 
events,  the  two  conditions  went  together.  He  began 
to  write  for  the  love  of  it,  and  was  always,  perforce,  an 
amateur  rather  than  a  member  of  the  guild.  As  he 
grew  older,  he  would  have  valued  a  hundred  pounds 
earned  by  his  pen  more  than  a  thousand  received  from 
his  estate ;  but  although  he  estimated  properly  the 
value  of  his  work,  and,  thinking  others  would  do  the 
same,  was  always  appropriating  in  advance  hypotheti 
cal  earnings  to  philanthropic  ends,  he  never  gained  a 
year's  subsistence  by  literature ;  and  such  of  his  works 
as  were  not  printed  at  his  own  expense,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  the  first  two  volumes  of  "  Imaginary  Conversa 
tions,"  entailed  losses  upon  the  firms  venturing  their 
publication. 

But  amateurship  in  Lander's  case,  enforced  or 
chosen,  did  not  become  dilettanteism ;  on  the  con 
trary,  it  made  him  finely  independent  and  original. 
His  own  boast  was  that  he  was  a  "  creature  who  imi 
tated  nobody  and  whom  nobody  imitated ;  the  man 


His  -work 

Tinremitner- 

ative. 


Landor  not 
a  dilettant. 


6o 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


who  walked  through  the  crowd  of  poets  and  prose- 
men,  and  never  was  touched  by  any  one's  skirts." 
This  haughty  self-gratulation  we  cannot  allow.  No 
human  being  ever  was  independent,  in  this  sense. 
Landor  in  his  youth  imitated  Pope,  and  afterwards 
made  beneficial  study  of  Milton  before  reaching  a 
manner  of  his  own.  Pindar,  Theocritus,  and  Catullus, 
among  the  ancients,  he  read  so  closely  that  he  could 
not  but  feel  the  influence  of  their  styles.  Yet  he 
might  justly  claim  that  he  had  no  part  in  the  mere 
fashion  of  the  day,  and  that  he  wrote  and  thought 
independent  of  those  with  whom  he  was  on  the  most 
intimate  and  coadmiring  terms.  He  often  shed  tears 
in  the  passion  of  his  work,  and  his  finest  conceptions 
were  the  most  spontaneous,  —  for  his  instinct  with 
regard  to  beauty  and  the  canons  of  literary  taste  had 
the  precision  of  law  itself.  His  poetic  qualities,  like 
his  acquirements,  were  of  the  rare  and  genuine  kind. 
He  had  a  thorough  sympathy  with  nature  and  a  love 
for  outdoor  life.  His  biographer,  while  careful  to  de 
tail  the  quarrels  and  imbroglios  into  which  his  temper 
betrayed  him  along  the  course  of  years,  gives  us  only 
brief  and  fitful  glimpses  of  his  better  and  prevailing 
mood.  Happily,  Forster  avails  himself  of  Landor's 
letters  to  fill  out  his  bulky  volume,  and  hence  cannot 
wholly  conceal  the  striking  poetic  qualities  of  the  man. 
Landor  knew  and  loved  the  sky,  the  woods,  and  the 
waters ;  a  day's  journey  was  but  an  enjoyable  walk 
for  him ;  and  he  passed  half  his  time  roaming  over 
the  hills,  facing  the  breeze,  and  composing  in  the 
open  air.  It  was  only,  in  fact,  when  quite  alone  that 
he  could  be  silent  enough  to  work.  For  trees  he 
had  a  reverential  passion.  Read  his  Conversation 
with  Pallavicini ;  and  examine  that  episode  in  his  life, 


LOVE   OF  NATURE. 


61 


when  he  bought  and  tried  to  perfect  the  Welsh  estate, 
and  would  have  grown  a  forest  of  half  a  million  trees, 
but  for  his  own  impracticability  and  the  boorishness 
of  the  country  churls  about  him.  Unlike  many  re 
flective  poets,  however,  he  never  permits  landscape 
to  distract  the  attention  in  his  figure-pieces,  but  with 
masterly  art  introduces  it  sufficiently  to  relieve  and 
give  effect  to  their  dramatic  purpose.  That  he  is 
often  tempted  to  do  otherwise  he  confesses  in  a  letter 
to  Southey,  and  adds :  "  I  am  fortunate,  for  I  never 
compose  a  single  verse  within  doors,  except  in  bed 
sometimes.  I  do  not  know  what  the  satirists  would 
say  if  they  knew  that  most  of  my  verses  spring  from 
a  gate-post  or  a  mole-hill."  Trees,  flowers,  every 
growing  thing  was  sacred  to  him,  and  informed  with 
happy  life.  It  was  his  wish  and  way 

"To  let  all  flowers  live  freely,  and  all  die, 
Whene'er  their  Genius  bids  their  souls  depart, 
Among  their  kindred  in  their  native  place. 
I  never  pluck  the  rose ;  the  violet's  head 
Hath  shaken  with  my  breath  upon  its  bank, 
And  not  reproached  me ;  the  ever-sacred  cup 
Of  the  pure  lily  hath  between  my  hands 
Felt  safe,  unsoiled,  nor  lost  one  grain  of  gold." 

His  affection  for  dogs  and  other  dumb  creatures, 
like  his  understanding  of  them,  is  no  less  instinctive 
and  sincere.  Of  all  the  Louis  Quatorze  rhymesters 
he  tolerates  La  Fontaine  only,  "for  I  never  see  an 
animal,"  he  writes,  "unless  it  be  a  parrot  or  a  mon 
key  or  a  pug-dog  or  a  serpent,  that  I  do  not  converse 
with  it  either  openly  or  secretly." 

In  the  dialogue  to  which  I  have  referred  he  pro 
tests  against  the  senseless  imitation  of  Grecian  archi 
tecture  in  the  cold  climate  of  our  North,  —  and  this 


Affection 
for  animals. 


62 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


Landor 
thoroughly 
modern,  and 
a  radical 
thinker. 


reminds  me  of  Lander's  classicism  and  its  relation 
to  the  value  of  his  work.  In  Latin  composition  he 
excelled  any  contemporary,  and  was  only  equalled 
by  Milton  and  a  few  others  of  the  past.  Latin,  as 
I  have  shown,  was  at  times  the  language  of  his 
thoughts,  and,  as  he  wrote  for  expression  only,  he 
loved  to  use  it  for  his  verse.  Greek  was  less  at  his 
command,  but  he  could  always  recall  it  by  a  fort 
night's  study,  and  his  taste  and  feeling  were  rather 
Athenian  than  Roman.  Undoubtedly,  as  judicious 
friends  ^constantly  were  assuring  him,  he  threw  away 
precious  labor  in  composing  Latin  epigrams,  satires, 
and  idyls ;  yet  his  English  style,  like  that  of  other 
famous  masters,  acquired  a  peculiar  strength  and 
nobleness  from  the  influence  of  his  classical  diver 
sions.  He  has  not  escaped  the  charge  of  valuing 
only  what  is  old,  and  holding  the  antique  fashion 
to  be  more  excellent  than  that  of  his  own  period. 
Americans  are  sufficiently  familiar  with  this  conceit 
of  shallow  critics  and  self-made  men ;  yet  the  finest 
scholars  I  have  known  have  been  the  most  fervent 
patriots,  the  most  advanced  thinkers,  the  most  vigor 
ous  lovers  and  frequenters  of  our  forests,  mountains, 
and  lakes.  With  regard  to  Landor,  never  was  a  prej 
udice  so  misapplied.  He  was  essentially  modern  and 
radical,  looking  to  the  future  rather  than  to  the  past, 
and  was  among  the  first  to  welcome  and  appreciate 
Tennyson,  the  Brownings,  Margaret  Fuller,  Kossuth, 
and  other  poets  and  enthusiasts  of  the  time.  He  was 
called  an  old  pagan ;  while  in  truth  his  boast  was 
just,  not  only  that  he  "  walked  up  to  the  ancients 
and  talked  with  them  familiarly,"  but  that  he  "  never 
took  a  drop  of  wine  or  crust  of  bread  in  their 
houses."  There  was,  to  be  sure,  something  of  the 


HfS  KNOWLEDGE. 


Epicurean  in  the  zest  with  which  he  made  the  most 
of  life,  and  his  nearness  to  nature  may  seem  pagan 
to  those  whose  idealism  is  that  of  the  desk  and  closet 
only.  "  It  is  hard,"  he  says  of  gunning,  "  to  take 
what  we  cannot  give ;  and  life  is  a  pleasant  thing,  at 
least  to  birds.  No  doubt  the  young  ones  say  tender 
things  one  to  another,  and  even  the  old  ones  do  not 
dream  of  death." 

Landor's  appetite  for  knowledge  was  insatiable,  wor 
thy  of  the  era,  and  his  acquisitions  were  immense.  He 
gathered  up  facts  insensibly  and  retained  everything 
that  he  observed  or  read.  Of  history  he  was  a  close 
and  universal  student.  As  he  possessed  no  books  of 
reference,  it  is  not  surprising  that  his  memory  was 
occasionally  at  fault.  De  Quincey  said  that  his  learn 
ing  was  sometimes  defective, — but  this  was  high  praise 
from  De  Quincey, — and  of  his  genius,  that  he  always 
rose  with  his  subject,  and  dilated,  "  like  Satan,  into 
Teneriffe  or  Atlas  when  he  saw  before  him  an  an 
tagonist  worthy  of  his  powers."  Landor  is  not  so 
generous  to  himself,  but  affirms,  "  I  am  a  horrible 

compounder  of  historical  facts I  have  usually 

one  history  that  I  have  read,  another  that  I  have 
invented."  In  his  "  Imaginary  Conversations "  the 
invented  history,  like  that  of  Shakespeare's,  seems  to 
me  its  own  excuse  for  being.  The  philosophies  of 
every  age  are  no  less  at  his  tongue's  end,  and  sub 
ject  to  his  wise  discrimination.  With  unsubstantial 
metaphysics  he  has  small  patience,  and  believes  that 
"we  are  upon  earth  to  learn  what  can  be  learnt  upon 
earth,  and  not  to  speculate  upon  what  never  can  be." 
Politics  he  is  discussing  constantly,  but  has  too  broad 
and  social  a  foothold  to  satisfy  a  partisan.  What 
soever  things  are  just  and  pure,  these  he  supports ; 


His  knowl 
edge. 


64 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LAND  OR. 


His  republi 
canism. 


above  all,  his  love  of  liberty  is  intense  as  Shelley's, 
Mazzini's,  or  Garibaldi's,  and  often  as  unreasoning. 
Always  on  the  side  of  the  poor  and  oppressed,  he  in 
directly  approves  even  regicide,  but  is  so  tender  of 
heart  that  he  would  not  really  harm  a  fly.  His  indi 
viduality  was  strong  throughout,  and  he  was  able  to 
maintain  no  prolonged  allegiance  to  party,  church,  or 
state ;  nay,  not  even  to  obey  when  he  undertook  obedi 
ence, — for,  although  he  was  at  munificent  expense  in  a 
personal  attempt  to  aid  the  Spanish  patriots,  and  re 
ceived  an  officer's  commission  from  the  Junta,  he  took 
offence  almost  at  the  outset,  and  threw  up  his  command 
after  a  brief  skirmishing  experience  on  the  frontier. 
He  admired  our  own  country  for  its  form  of  govern 
ment,  but  seemed  to  think  Washington  and  Franklin  its 
only  heroic  characters.  If  there  was  an  exception  to 
his  general  knowledge,  it  was  with  regard  to  America  : 
like  other  Englishmen  of  his  time,  he  had  no  ade 
quate  comprehension  of  men  and  things  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic.  Could  he  have  visited  us  in  his 
wanderings,  the  clear  American  skies,  the  free  atmos 
phere,  and  the  vitality  of  our  institutions  would  have 
rejoiced  his  spirit,  and  might  have  rendered  him  more 
tolerant  of  certain  national  and  individual  traits  which, 
although  we  trust  they  are  but  for  a  season,  served  at 
a  distance  to  excite  his  irritation  and  disdain. 

For  criticism  Landor  had  a  determined  bent,  which 
displays  itself  in  his  essays,  talk,  and  correspondence. 
The  critical  and  creative  natures  are  rarely  united  in 
one  person.  The  greatest  poets  have  left  only  their 
own  works  behind  them,  too  occupied  or  too  indiffer 
ent  to  record  their  judgment  of  their  contemporaries. 
But  Landor  lived  in  a  critical  age,  and  so  acute  was 
his  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  that  it  impelled  him 


CRITICAL  POWERS. 


to  estimate  and  comment  upon  every  literary  produc 
tion  that  came  under  his  observation.  In  the  warmth 
of  his  heart,  he  was  too  apt  to  eulogize  the  efforts  of 
his  personal  friends;  but,  otherwise  considered,  his 
writings  are  full  of  criticism  than  which  there  is 
nothing  truer,  subtler,  or  more  comprehensive  in  the 
English  tongue.  He  had,  furthermore,  a  passion  for 
scholarly  notes  and  minute  verbal  emendation.  In 
the  former  direction  his  scholia  upon  the  classical 
texts  are  full  of  learning  and  beauty;  but  when  he 
essayed  philology,  —  of  which  he  had  little  knowledge, 
in  the  modern  sense,  —  and  attempted  to  regulate  the 
orthography  of  our  language,  the  result  was  something 
lamentable.  His  vagaries  of  this  sort,  I  need  scarcely 
add,  were  persisted  in  to  the  exclusion  of  greater  things, 
and  partly,  no  doubt,  because  they  seemed  objection 
able  to  others  and  positively  hindered  his  career. 

While  the  literary  consciousness  and  thoroughly  gen 
uine  art  of  Landor's  poetry  are  recognized  by  all  of 
his  own  profession,  much  of  it,  like  certain  still-life 
painting,  is  chiefly  valuable  for  technical  beauty,  and 
admired  by  the  poet  rather  than  by  the  popular  critic. 
As  one  might  say  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  that  it  was  impos 
sible,  even  by  chance,  that  he  could  write  profane  or 
libidinous  doctrine,  so  it  seemed  impossible  for  Landor, 
even  in  feeble  and  ill-advised  moments,  to  compose 
anything  that  was  trite  or  inartistic.  The  touch  of 
the  master,  the  quality  of  the  poet,  is  dominant  over 
all.  His  voice  was  sweet,  and  he  could  not  speak  un 
musically,  though  in  a  rage.  His  daintiest  trifles  show 
this :  they  are  found  at  random,  like  precious  stones, 
sometimes  broken  and  incomplete,  but  every  one  —  so 
far  as  it  goes  —  pure  in  color  and  absolutely  without 
flaw.  A  slight  object  served  him  for  a  text,  and  in 


Technical 
excellence. 


66 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


honor  of  a  woman  who  pleased  him,  but  who  seemed 
far  enough  beneath  him  to  ordinary  eyes,  he  composed 
eighty-five  lyrics  that  might  have  beguiled  Diana. 

In  discoursing  upon  elevated  themes  he  was  seized 
with  that  divine  extravagance  which  possessed  the 
bards  of  old ;  and,  in  verse  addressed  to  persons  whom 
he  loved  or  detested,  he  took  the  manner  of  his  favor 
ite  classical  lyrists,  and  in  every  instance  went  to  the 
extreme  of  gallant  compliment  or  withering  scorn. 
His  determination  to  have  freedom  from  restraint,  at 
all  hazards  and  any  cost,  exhibits  itself  in  his  poetry 
and  prose.  Here  he  found  a  liberty,  an  independence 
of  other  rules  than  his  own  judgment  or  caprice,  which 
he  could  not  enjoy  in  daily  life,  —  although  in  conduct, 
as  in  letters,  he  was  so  obstreperous  and  unpleasant 
an  opponent  that  few  cared  to  set  themselves  in  his 
way.  I  repeat  that,  for  all  his  great  powers,  he  was  a 
royal  Bohemian  in  art,  as  throughout  life,  and  never 
in  poetry  composed  the  ample  work  which  he  himself 
asserted  is  requisite  to  establish  the  greatness  of  a 
poet;  yet,  in  a  more  barren  period,  one  fourth  as 
much  as  he  accomplished  sufficed  for  the  reputation 
of  Goldsmith,  Collins,  or  Gray. 

With  regard  to  the  fame  of  Landor  it  may  be  said, 
that,  while  he  has  not  reached  a  rank  which  embold 
ens  any  publisher  to  issue  a  complete  edition  of  his 
varied  and  extensive  writings,1  —  and  even  his  poems, 
alone,  are  not  brought  together  and  sold  with  Byron, 


1  At  present,  the  best  collection  of  Landor's  works  is  that  made 
in  1846  (2  vols.  8vo),  of  such  as  he  himself  then  deemed  worthy 
of  preservation.  A  new  edition  has  lately  been  printed.  It  con 
tains  the  Imaginary  Conversations,  Citation  of  Shakespeare,  Pen- 
tameron,  Pericles  and  Aspasia,  Gebir,  the  first  series  of  Hellenics, 
and  most  of  the  author's  dramatic  and  lyric  poems  which  pre- 


HIS  AUDIENCE. 


67 


Longfellow,  Tennyson,  and  other  public  favorites,  — 
it  is  certain,  nevertheless,  that  he  has  long  emerged 
from  that  condition  in  which  De  Quincey  designated 
him  as  a  man  of  great  genius  who  might  lay  claim  to 
a  reputation  on  the  basis  of  not  being  read.  He  has 
gained  a  hearing  from  a  fit  audience,  though  few, 
which  will  have  its  successors  through  many  genera 
tions.  To  me  his  fame  seems  more  secure  than  that 
of  some  of  his  popular  contemporaries.  If  Landor 
himself  had  any  feeling  upon  the  subject,  it  was  that 
time  would  yield  him  justice.  No  one  could  do  better 
without  applause,  worked  less  for  it,  counted  less  upon 
it;  yet  when  it  came  to  him  he  was  delighted  in  a 
simple  way.  It  pleased  him  by  its  novelty,  and  often 
he  pronounced  it  critical  —  because  it  was  applause  — 
and  overestimated  the  bestower :  that  is,  he  knew  the 
verdict  of  his  few  admirers  was  correct,  and  by  it 
gauged  their  general  understanding.  He  challenged  his 
critics  with  a  perfect  consciousness  of  his  own  excellence 
in  art ;  yet  only  asserted  his  rights  when  they  were  de 
nied  him.  In  all  his  books  there  is  no  whit  of  coward 
ice  or  whining.  Nothing  could  make  them  morbid  and 
jaundiced,  for  it  was  chiefly  as  an  author  that  he  had  a 
religion  and  conscience,  and  was  capable  of  self-denial. 
Landor's  prolonged  discouragements,  however,  made 
him  contemptuous  of  putting  out  his  strength  before 
people  who  did  not  properly  measure  him,  and  he 
felt  all  the  loneliness  of  a  man  superior  to  his  time. 

ceded  its  date  of  compilation.  The  later  Hellenics,  Last  Frtiit 
off  an  Old  Tree,  Heroic  Idyls,  Scenes  for  a  Study,  etc.,  can  only 
be  procured  in  separate  volumes  and  pamphlets,  and,  in  book 
seller's  diction,  are  fast  becoming  "rare."  —  January,  1875:  a 
complete  edition  of  Landor,  in  six  volumes,  is  now  announced 
for  early  publication  by  a  London  house. 


68 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


Desire  for 
appreciation. 


In  youth  he  once  or  twice  betrayed  a  yearning  for 
appreciation.  How  nobly  and  tenderly  he  expressed 
it !  "I  confess  to  you,  if  even  foolish  men  had  read 
'Gebir,'  I  should  have  continued  to  write  poetry; 
there  is  something  of  summer  in  the  hum  of  insects." 
And  again:  "The  popularis  aura,  though  we  are 
ashamed  or  unable  to  analyze  it,  is  requisite  for  the 
health  and  growth  of  genius.  Had  'Gebir'  been  a 
worse  poem,  but  with  more  admirers,  and  I  had  once 
filled  my  sails,  I  should  have  made  many  and  per 
haps  more  prosperous  voyages.  There  is  almost  as 
much  vanity  in  disdaining  the  opinion  of  the  world 
as  in  pursuing  it." 

He  did  not  disdain  it,  but  reconciled  himself  with 
what  heart  he  might  to  its   absence.     In  later   years 
he   asserted :    "  I   shall   have    as    many  readers   as   I 
desire   to   have   in   other  times   than   ours.       I   shall 
dine   late ;   but  the  dining-room  will  be  well  lighted, 
the  guests  few  and  select."      Southey  buried  himself 
in    work,   when    galled   by   his    failure    to    touch    the 
popular    heart ;    Landor,    in    life    and    action,    and   in 
healthful  Nature's  haunts.      The  "Imaginary  Conver 
sations"   were,   to   a  certain   degree,   a   popular   suc 
cess,  —  at   least,  were   generally  known    and   read   by 
cultured  Englishmen ;  and  for  some  years  their  author 
heartily  enjoyed  the  measure  of  reputation  which  he 
then,  for  the  first  time,  received.     It  was  during  this 
sunlit  period  that  he  addressed  a  noble  ode  to  Joseph 
Ablett,  containing  these  impulsive  lines:  — 
"  I  never  courted  friends  or  Fame ; 
She  pouted  at  me  long,  at  last  she  came, 
And  threw  her  arms  around  my  neck  and  said, 
'Take  what  hath  been  for  years  delayed, 
And  fear  not  that  the  leaves  will  fall 
One  hour  the  earlier  from  thy  coronal.' " 


THE  LAST  FRUIT  OFF  AN  OLD   TREE.' 


69 


Threescore  years  and  ten  are  the  natural  term  of 
life,  yet  we  find  Landor  at  that  point  just  leaving 
the  meridian  of  his  strength  and  splendor.  When 
seventy-one,  he  saw  his  English  writings  collected 
under  Forster's  supervision,  and  his  renown  would 
have  been  no  less  if  he  had  then  sung  his  mine  di- 
mittis  and  composed  no  longer.  Yet  we  could  not 
spare  that  most  poetical  volume  which  appeared  near 
the  close  of  the  ensuing  year.  At  a  dash,  he  made 
and  printed  the  English  version  of  his  Latin  Idyls, — 
written  half  a  lifetime  before.  We  already  have 
classed  the  "Cupid  and  Pan,"  "DryopV'  "The  Chil 
dren  of  Venus,"  with  their  companion-pieces,  as  a 
portion  of  his  choicest  work.  Five  years  afterward 
he  gathered  up  The  Last  Fruit  off  an  Old  Tree,  and 
meant  therewith  to  end  his  literary  labors.  To  this 
volume  was  prefaced  the  "Dying  Speech  of  an  Old 
Philosopher,"  —  and  who  but  Landor  could  have  writ 
ten  the  faultless  and  pathetic  quatrain? 

"I  strove  with  none,  for  none  was  worth  my  strife; 

Nature  I  loved,  and,  next  to  Nature,  Art; 
I  warmed  both  hands  before  the  fire  of  life ; 
It  sinks,  and  I  am  ready  to  depart." 

Our  author's  prose  never  was  more  characteristic 
than  in  this  book,  which  contained  some  modern  dia 
logues,  much  literary  and  political  disquisition,  and 
the  delightful  critical  papers  upon  Theocritus  and 
Catullus.  The  poetry  consisted  of  lyrics  and  epistles, 
with  a  stirring  dramatic  fragment,  —  "The  Cenci." 
Many  a  time  thereafter  the  poet  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall,  but  could  not  die :  the  gods  were  unkind, 
and  would  not  send  Iris  to  clip  the  sacred  lock.  He 
was  compelled  to  live  on  till  nothing  but  his  voice 
was  left  him ;  yet,  living,  he  could  not  be  without 


WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR. 


"Dry  Stick* 

Fagoted" 

1858. 


"  Heroic 
Idyls,"  1863. 


Kate  Field. 


expression.  In  1857-58  came  a  sorrowful  affair  at 
Bath,  where  the  old  man  was  enveloped  in  a  swarm 
of  flies  and  stopped  to  battle  with  them ;  engaged  at 
eighty-two  in  a  quixotic  warfare  with  people  immeas 
urably  beneath  him,  and  sending  forth  epigrams,  like 
some  worn-out,  crazy  warrior  toying  with  the  bow- 
and-arrows  of  his  childhood.  I  am  thankful  to  forget 
all  this,  when  reading  the  classical  dialogues  printed 
in  his  eighty-ninth  year,  under  the  title  of  Heroic 
Idyls.  Still  more  lately  were  composed  the  poetical 
scenes  and  dialogues  given  in  the  closing  pages  of 
his  biography.1 

Deaf,  lame,  and  blind,  as  Landor  was,  —  qualis 
artifex  periit !  The  letters,  poems,  and  criticisms  of 
his  last  three  years  of  life  are  full  of  thought  and 
excellence.  The  love  of  song  stayed  by  him  -,  he 
was  a  poet  above  all,  and,  like  all  true  poets,  young 
in  feeling  to  the  last,  and  fond  of  bringing  youth 
and  beauty  around  him.  We  owe  to  one  enthusi 
astic  girl,  in  whom  both  these  graces  were  united,  a 
striking  picture  of  the  old  minstrel  with  his  foam- 
white,  patriarchal  beard,  his  leonine  visage,  and  head 
not  unlike  that  of  Michael  Angelo's  "  Moses " ;  and 
it  was  to  the  fresh  and  eager  mind  of  such  a  listener, 
with  his  own  aesthetic  sensibilities  for  the  time  well 
pleased,  that  he  offered  priceless  fragments  of  wit 


1  Besides  additions,  in  English,  to  the  "Imaginary  Conversa 
tions,"  Landor  wrote,  in  Italian,  a  dialogue  entitled  Savonarola 
e  il  Priore  di  San  Marco.  It  appeared  in  1860,  but  was  speedily 
suppressed  through  Church  influence,  and  the  edition  remained 
on  his  hands  in  sheets.  The  author's  old  prejudice  against  Plato 
breaks  out  in  this  pamphlet,  quaintly  and  incongruously,  but  Mr. 
Swinburne  justly  says  of  the  production  that  "it  is  a  noble  'last 
fruit'  of  the  Italian  branch  of  that  mighty  tree." 


DEATH  OF  THE  LION. 


and  courtesy,  and  expounded  the  simply  perfect  can 
ons  of  his  verse.  The  finest  thing  we  know  of  Swin 
burne's  life  is  his  pilgrimage  to  Italy  and  unselfish 
reverence  at  the  feet  of  the  incomparable  artist,  the 
unconquerable  freeman,  to  whom  he 

"  Came  as  one  whose  thoughts  half  linger, 

Half  run  before ; 

The  youngest  to  the  oldest  singer 
That  England  bore." 

To  some  who  then  for  the  first  time  knew  Landor, 
and  who  were  not  endowed  with  the  refined  percep 
tions  of  these  young  enthusiasts,  the  foibles  of  his 
latter  days  obscured  his  genius ;  to  us,  at  this  dis 
tance,  they  seem  only  the  tremors  of  the  dying  lion. 
When,  at  the  age  of  eighty-nine  years  and  nine 
months,  he  breathed  his  last  at  Florence,  it  was  in 
deed  like  the  death  of  some  monarch  of  the  forest,  — 
most  untamed  when  powerless,  away  from  the  region 
which  gave  him  birth  and  the  air  which  fostered  his 
scornful  yet  heroic  spirit. 


A.  C.  Swin 
burne. 


W.  S.  L. 
died  in  Flor 
ence,  Sept. 
17,  1864. 


CHAPTER    III. 


Compara 
tive  criti 
cism. 


Three  poets. 


THOMAS  HOOD.  — MATTHEW  ARNOLD.  — BRYAN 
WALLER   PROCTER. 

I. 

I  BRING  together  the  foregoing  names  of  poets, 
whose  works  very  clearly  reflect  certain  phases  of 
English  life  and  literature.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
select  three  more  unlike  one  another  in  genius,  mo 
tive,  and  the  results  of  their  devotion  to  art,  or  any 
three  whose  relations  to  their  period  can  be  defined 
so  justly  by  a  process  of  contrast  and  comparison. 
This  process  is  objectionable  when  we  are  testing 
the  success  of  an  author  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  own 
artistic  purpose ;  it  has  its  use,  nevertheless,  in  a 
general  survey  of  the  poetry  of  any  given  time. 

Here  are  the  poet  of  sympathy,  the  poet  of  cul 
tured  intellect,  and  the  born  vocalist  of  lyric  song. 
The  first  is  thoroughly  democratic  in  his  expression 
of  the  mirth  and  tragedy  of  common  life.  The  sec 
ond  equally  represents  his  era,  with  its  excess  of  cul 
ture,  subtile  intellectuality,  poverty  of  theme,  reliance 
upon  the  beauty  and  wisdom  of  the  past.  His  sym 
pathies  may  be  no  less  acute,  but  the  popular  in 
stinct  has  deemed  them  loyal  to  his  own  class ;  his 
humanity  takes  little  note  of  individuals,  but  regards 
social  and  psychological  problems  in  the  abstract;  as 
for  his  genius,  it  is  critical  rather  than  creative.  The 


A   POET  OF  THE  HEART. 


73 


last  of  this  trinity  is  delightful  for  the  troubadour 
quality  of  his  minstrelsy :  a  dramatist  and  song-writer, 
loving  poetry  for  itself,  possessing  what  the  musician 
would  call  a  genuine  "voice,"  and  giving  blithe,  un 
studied  utterance  to  his  tuneful  impulses.  Hood  is 
the  poet  of  the  crowd;  Arnold,  of  the  closet;  Proc 
ter,  of  the  open  air:  —  all  are  purely  English,  and 
belong  to  the  England  of  a  very  recent  day. 


II. 

EXAMINING  the  work  of  these  minor,  yet  representa 
tive  poets,  we  find  that  of  Thomas  Hood  so  attractive 
and  familiar,  that  in  his  case  the  former  qualification 
seems  a  distinction  by  no  wide  remove  from  the  best 
of  his  contemporaries.  He  had  a  portion  of  almost 
every  gift  belonging  to  a  true  poet,  and  but  for  re 
stricted  health  and  fortune  would  have  maintained  a 
higher  standard.  His  sympathetic  instinct  was  espe 
cially  tender  and  alert ;  he  was  the  poet  of  the  heart, 
and  sound  at  heart  himself,  —  the  poet  of  humane 
sentiment,  clarified  by  a  living  spring  of  humor,  which 
kept  it  from  any  taint  of  sentimentalism.  To  read 
his  pages  is  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns ;  to  take  on 
human  charity;  to  regard  the  earth  mournfully,  yet 
be  thankful,  as  he  was,  for  what  sunshine  falls  upon 
it,  and  to  accept  manfully,  as  he  did,  each  one's 
condition,  however  toilsome  and  suffering,  under  the 
changeless  law  that  impels  and  governs  all.  Even 
his  artistic  weaknesses  (and  he  had  no  other)  were 
frolicsome  and  endearing.  Much  of  his  verse  was 
the  poetry  of  the  beautiful,  in  a  direction  opposite  to 
that  of  the  metaphysical  kind.  His  humor  —  not  his 
jaded  humor,  the  pack-horse  of  daily  task-work,  but 
4 


Thomas 
Hood:  born, 
in  London, 
Mayt  1799. 


74 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


his  humor  at  its  best,  which  so  lightened  his  pack  of 
ills  and  sorrows,  and  made  all  England  know  him  — 
was  the  merriment  of  hamlets  and  hostels  around  the 
skirts  of  Parnassus,  where  not  the  gods,  but  Earth's 
common  children,  hold  their  gala-days  within  the 
shadow.  Lastly,  his  severer  lyrical  faculty  was  musi 
cal  and  sweet:  its  product  is  as  refined  as  the  most 
exacting  need  require,  and  keeps  more  uniformly  than 
other  modern  poetry  to  the  idiomatic  measures  of 
English  song. 

Hood  failed  in  a  youthful  effort  to  master  the 
drudgery  of  a  commercial  desk.  He  then  attempted 
to  practise  the  art  of  engraving,  but  found  it  ruin 
ous  to  his  health.  It  served  to  develop  a  pleasant 
knack  of  sketching,  which  was  similar  in  quality  and 
after-use  to  Thackeray's  gift  in  that  line,  and  came 
as  readily  to  its  owner.  At  last  he  easily  drifted  into 
the  life  of  a  working  man  of  letters,  and  figured 
creditably,  both  as  humorist  and  as  poet,  before  the 
commencement  of  the  present  British  reign.  Yet"  that 
portion  of  his  verse  which  is  engrafted  upon  litera 
ture  as  distinctively  his  own  was  not  composed,  it 
will  be  seen,  until  within  the  years  immediately  pre 
ceding  his  death.  He  thus  occupies  a  niche  in  the 
arcade  along  which  our  vision  at  present  is  directed. 

His  youthful  career,  in  fact,  belongs  to  that  in 
terval  when  people  were  beginning  to  shake  off  the 
influence  of  Byron  and  his  compeers,  and  to  ask  for 
something  new.  It  is  noticeable  that  the  works  of 
Keats,  Shelley,  and  Coleridge  separated  themselves 
from  the  debris,  and  greatly  affected  the  rising  genera 
tion  of  poets,  inciting  a  reaction,  from  the  passionate 
unrestraint  of  the  romantic  school,  to  the  fastidious 
art  of  which  Keats  was  the  rarest  and  most  intuitive 


HIS  EARLY  PRODUCTIONS. 


75 


master.  The  change  was  accelerated  by  such  men  as 
Leigh  Hunt,  —  then  at  his  poetic  meridian,  and  a 
clear,  though  somewhat  gentle,  signal-light  between 
the  future  and  the  past.  Hood's  early  and  serious 
poems  are  of  the  artistic  sort,  evincing  his  adherence 
to  the  new  method,  and  an  eager  study  of  Shake 
speare  and  other  Elizabethan  models. 

At  various  times  between  1821  and  1830  were  com 
posed  such  pieces  as  "  Hero  and  Leander,"  —  in  the 
manner  of  "  Venus  and  Adonis  " ;  "  The  Two  Swans," 
"  The  Two  Peacocks  of  Bedfont,"  and  "  The  Plea  of 
the  Midsummer  Fairies,"  —  carefully  written  after  the 
fashion  of  Spenser  and  his  teachers ;  "  Lycus,  the  Cen 
taur  " ;  numberless  fine  sonnets ;  and  a  few  lyrics, 
among  which  the  ballad  of  "  Fair  Ines  "  certainly  is 
without  a  peer.  Much  of  this  verse  exhibits  Hood's 
persistent  defect,  —  a  failing  from  which  he  never 
wholly  recovered,  and  which  was  due  to  excess  of 
nervous  imagination,  —  that  of  overloading  a  poem 
with  as  much  verbal  and  scenic  detail  as  the  theme 
and  structure  could  be  made  to  bear.  Otherwise  it 
is  very  charming:  such  work  as  then  commended 
itself  to  poets,  and  which  the  modern  public  has  been 
taught  to  recognize.  "  Lycus,  the  Centaur,"  for  instance, 
reads  like  a  production  of  the  latest  school ;  and 
Hood's  children,  in  their  "  Memorials "  of  the  poet, 
justly  term  "  The  Plea  of  the  Midsummer  Fairies " 
a  "  most  artistic  poem,"  which  "  has  latterly  been  more 
fairly  appreciated  in  spite  of  its  antiquated  style." 
But  his  own  public  took  little  interest  in  these  fanci 
ful  compositions  of  Hood's  younger  muse,  however 
clearly  they  reveal  the  artist  side  of  his  nature,  his 
delicate  taste,  command  of  rhythm,  and  devotion  to 
his  ideal.  These  traits  were  more  acceptable  in  his 


Hood's  early 
poems. 
1821  -30. 


76 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Lyrical  bal 
lads. 


The  verbal 
school. 


shorter  lyrics  of  that  period,  many  of  which  were  de 
licious,  and  beyond  his  own  power  to  excel  in  later 
years.  His  ballads  —  contributed  to  the  magazines 
and  annuals,  then  in  vogue,  with  which  he  was  con 
nected  —  are  full  of  grace,  simplicity,  pathos,  and  spirit. 
All  must  acknowledge,  with  Poe,  that  "Fair  Ines  "  is 
perfect  of  its  kind.  Take  this  exquisite  ballad,  and 
others,  written  at  various  dates  throughout  his  life, 
—  "It  was  not  in  the  Winter,"  "Sigh  on,  sad  Heart," 
"She's  up  and  gone,  the  graceless  Girl,"  "What 
can  an  old  Man  do  but  die?"  "The  Death-Bed," 
"I  Remember,  I  Remember,"  "Ruth,"  "Farewell, 
Life ! " ;  take  also  the  more  imaginative  odes  to  be 
found  in  his  collected  works,  —  such  as  those  "  To 
Melancholy"  and  "To  the  Moon";  take  these  lyrical 
poems,  and  give  them,  after  some  consideration  of 
present  verse-making,  a  careful  reading  anew.  They 
are  here  cited  as  his  lyrical  conceptions,  not  as  work 
in  what  afterward  proved  to  be  his  special  field,  and 
we  shortly  may  dismiss  this  portion  of  our  theme. 
I  call  these  songs  and  ballads,  poetry :  poetry  of  the 
lasting  sort,  native  to  the  English  tongue,  and  attrac 
tive  to  successive  generations.  I  believe  that  some 
of  them  will  be  read  when  many  years  have  passed 
away ;  that  they  will  be  picked  out  and  treasured  by 
future  compilers,  as  we  now  select  and  delight  in  the 
songs  of  Jonson,  Suckling,  Herrick,  and  other  noble 
kinsmen.  Place  them  in  contrast  with  efforts  of  the 
verbal  school,  —  all  sound  and  color,  conveying  no  pre 
cise  sentiment,  vivified  by  no  motive  sweet  with  feeling 
or  easeful  with  unstudied  rhythm.  Of  a  truth,  much 
of  this  elaborate  modern  verse  is  but  the  curious 
fashion  of  a  moment,  and  as  the  flower  of  grass :  "  the 
grass  withereth,  and  the  flower  thereof  falleth  away." 


A    TRUE  GIFT  OF  HUMOR. 

'       ( 


. 


> 


'•'., 


f  '  1        '  /.> 

v]  / 

Although  Hood  took  little  recognition  by  the/  Deli 
cate  poems  which  were  the  children  nearest  their 
begetter's  heart,  he  at  once  gained  the  favor  of  his 
countrymen  through  that  ready  humor  which  formed 
so  large  a  portion  of  his  birthright.  He  had  versa 
tility,  and  his  measures,  however  lacking  in  strength 
of  imagination,  exhibit  humane  and  dramatic  elements 
which  we  miss  in  those  of  his  greatest  contemporary. 
His  fantastic  image,  though  topped  with  the  cap  and 
bells,  may  well  be  garlanded  with  rue,  and  placed, 
like  Garrick's,  between  the  Muses  of  Comedy  and 
Tragedy.  He  had  the  veritable  gift  of  Humor, — 
that  which  makes  us  weep,  yet  smile  through  our 
tears.  But  how  this  faculty  was  overworked !  and 
how  his  verse  was  thinned  and  degraded,  to  suit  the 
caprice  of  a  rude  public,  by  that  treacherous  facility 
which  it  seemed  beyond  his  power  rightly  to  control ! 

Hood's  Odes  and  Addresses,  his  comic  diversions  in 
The  London  Magazine,  and  the  pronounced  success  of 
Whims  and  Oddities  (1826),  gave  him  notoriety  as  a 
fun-maker,  and  doomed  him  either  to  starve,  or  to 
grimace  for  the  national  amusement  during  the  twenty 
after-years  of  his  toiling,  pathetic  life.  The  British 
always  will  have  their  Samson,  out  of  the  prison- 
house,  to  make  them  sport.  Tickle  the  ribs  of  those 
spleen-devoured  idlers  or  workers,  in  London  and  a 
score  of  dingy  cities ;  dispel  for  a  moment  the  in 
sular  melancholy ;  and  you  may  command  the  pence 
of  the  poor,  and  the  patronage,  if  you  choose,  of  the 
rich  and  titled.  But  at  what  a  sacrifice  !  The  mask 
of  more  than  one  Merryman  has  hidden  a  death's- 
head  ;  his  path  has  slanted  to  the  tomb,  though 
strewn  with  tinsel  and  taffeta  roses,  and  garish  with 
all  the  cressets  of  the  circus-ring.  Whatever  Hood 


humor. 


''• 


A  jester  by 
profession. 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


His  poorer 
•verse  and 
prose. 


Comic 
poetry. 


might  essay,  the  public  was  stolidly  expecting  a  quip 
or  a  jest.  These  were  kindly  given,  though  often 
poor  as  the  health  and  fortunes  of  the  jester;  and 
it  is  no  marvel  that,  under  the  prolonged  draughts 
of  Hood's  Own  and  the  Comic  Annuals,  the  beery 
mirth  ran  swipes.  Even  then  it  was  just  as  eagerly 
received,  for  the  popular  sense  of  wit  is  none  too 
nice,  and  the  British  commons  retain  their  honest 
youthfulness,  coarse  of  appetite,  pleased  with  a  rattle, 
tickled  with  a  straw. 

There  is  no  more  sorrowful  display  of  metrical 
literature  —  a  tribute  extorted  from  the  poet  who 
wrote  for  a  living  —  than  the  bulk  of  his  comic  verses 
brought  together  in  the  volumes  of  Hood's  remains. 
It  was  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  preserve  it,  but  there 
it  lies,  with  all  its  wretched  puns  and  nonsense  of 
the  vanished  past,  a  warning  to  every  succeeding 
writer !  To  it  might  be  added  countless  pages  of 
equally  valueless  and  trivial  prose.  Yet  what  clever 
work  the  man  could  do  !  In  extravaganzas  like  "  The 
Tale  of  a  Trumpet"  his  sudden  laughter  flashes  into 
wit;  and  there  are  half-pensive,  half-mirthful  lyrics, 
such  as  "  A  Retrospective  Review,"  and  the  "  Lament 
for  -the  Decline  of  Chivalry,"  thrown  off  no  less  for 
his  own  than  for  the  public  enjoyment,  of  which  the 
humor  is  natural  and  refined :  not  that  of  our  day,  to 
be  sure,  but  to  be  estimated  with  the  author's  nation 
ality  and  time.  The  "Ode  to  Rae  Wilson,  Esquire," 
though  long  and  loosely  wrritten,  is  an  honest,  health 
ful  satire,  that  would  have  delighted  Robert  Burns. 

In  one  sense  the  term  "  comic  poetry  "  is  a  misno 
mer.  A  poem  often  is  just  so  much  the  less  a  poem 
by  the  amount  it  contains  of  puns,  sarcasm,  "  broad 
grins,"  and  other  munitions  of  the  satirist  or  farceur. 


COMIC  POETRY. 


79 


Yet  the  touch  of  the  poet's  wand  glorifies  the  lightest, 
commonest  object,  and  consecrates  everything  that  is 
human  to  the  magician's  use.  There  is  an  imagina 
tive  mirth,  no  less  than  an  imaginative  wrath  or  pas 
sion,  and  with  this  element  Hood's  most  important 
satirical  poem  is  charged  throughout.  The  "  Golden 
Legend  "  of  "  Miss  Kilmansegg  and  her  Precious  Leg," 
as  a  sustained  piece  of  metrical  humor,  is  absolutely 
unique.  The  flexible  metre  takes  the  reader  with  it, 
from  the  first  line  to  the  last,  and  this  is  no  small 
achievement.  The  poem  is  utterly  unhampered,  yet 
quite  in  keeping ;  the  satire  faithful  and  searching ; 
the  narrative  an  audacious,  fanciful  story ;  the  final 
tragedy  as  grotesque  as  that  of  a  Flemish  Dance  of 
Death.  At  first  the  poet  revels  in  his  apotheosis  of 
gold,  the  subject  and  motive  of  the  poem :  the  yellow, 
cruel,  pompous  metal  lines  the  floor,  walls,  and  ceil 
ing  of  his  structure ;  it  oozes,  molten,  from  every 
break  and  crevice ;  the  personages  are  clothed  in  it ; 
threads  of  gold  bind  the  rushing  couplets  together. 
What  a  picture  of  rich,  auriferous,  vulgar  London 
life !  Passages  of  grim  pathos  are  scattered  here  and 
there,  as  by  Thackeray  in  the  prose  satires  of  "  Cath 
erine  "  and  "  Barry  Lyndon."  When  the  murdered 
Countess's  "  spark,  called  vital,"  has  departed,  — 
when  in  the  morning, 

"  Her  Leg,  the  Golden  Leg,  was  gone, 
And  the  '  Golden  Bowl  was  broken,'  "  — 

then  comes  the  "  Moral  "  of  the  jester's  tale  :  — 

"Gold!  Gold!  Gold!  Gold! 
Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 
Molten,  graven,  hammered,  and  rolled ; 
Heavy  to  get,  and  light  to  hold; 


"Miss  K 
mansegg. 


8o 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


Thackeray 
and  Hood. 


Hoarded,  bartered,  bought,  and  sold, 
Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled : 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hugged  by  the  old 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  churchyard  mould ; 
Price  of  many  a  crime  untold ; 
Gold !  Gold !  Gold !  Gold  ! 
Good  or  bad  a  thousand-fold  ! 

How  widely  its  agencies  vary  — 
To  save  —  to  ruin  —  to  curse  —  to  bless  — 
As  even  its  minted  coins  express, 
Now  stamped  with  the  image  of  Good  Queen  Bess, 

And  now  of  a  Bloody  Mary." 

The  legend  of  the  hapless  Kilmansegg  is  known  to 
very  reader.  Who  can  forget  her  auspicious  pedi 
gree,  her  birth,  christening,  and  childhood,  her  acci 
dent,  her  precious  leg,  her  fancy-ball,  her  marriage  a 
'a  mode,  followed  in  swift  succession  by  the  Hogarth- 
an  pictures  of  her  misery  and  death?  The  poem 
s  full  of  rollicking,  unhampered  fancy ;  long  as  it  is, 
the  movement  is  so  rapid  that  it  almost  seems  to 
have  been  written  at  a  heat,  —  at  least,  can  easily  be 
read  at  a  sitting.  Though  not  without  those  absurd 
lapses  which  constantly  irritate  us  in  the  perusal  of 
Hood's  lighter  pieces,  it  is  the  most  lusty  and  char 
acteristic  of  them  all.  Standing  at  the  front  of  its 
author's  facetious  verse,  it  renders  him  the  leading 
poet-humorist  of  his  generation;  and,  in  a  critical 
review  of  any  generation,  the  elements  of  mirth  and 
satire  cannot  be  overlooked.  Of  course,  we  are  now 
considering  a  time  when  the  genius  of  Thackeray 
scarcely  had  made  itself  felt  and  known.  The  grave- 
and-gay  ballads  of  the  novelist  were  but  the  overflow 
of  his  masterful  nature ;  yet  so  bounteous  was  that 
overflow,  so  compounded  of  all  parts  which  go  to  the 
making  of  a  Shakespearean  mind,  that,  brief  and  with- 


POVERTY  UNFRIENDLY  TO  ART. 


81 


out  pretension  as  Thackeray's  trifles  are,  more  than 
one  of  them  —  for  wit,  grace,  fancy,  and  other  poetic 
constituents  —  is  worth  whole  pages  of  the  doggerel 
by  which  Hood  earned  his  bread.  What  the  latter 
did  professionally  the  former  executed  with  the  airy 
lightness  of  a  cavalier  trying  his  sword-blade. 

Contrasting  the  taste  revealed  in  Hood's  lyrics  with 
the  paltriness  of  his  comic  jingles,  it  would  seem  that 
his  deterioration  might  be  due  to  the  constant  neces 
sity  for  labor  which  poverty  imposed  upon  him,  and 
to  the  fact  that  his  labor  was  in  the  department  of 
journalism.  Only  the  most  unremitting  toil  could 
support  him  as  a  magazine-writer;  he  gained  the  ear 
of  the  public  not  so  much  by  humor  as  by  drollery, 
and  joke  he  must,  be  the  sallies  wise  or  otherwise, 
or  the  fire  would  go  out  on  the  hearth-stone,  and  the 
wolf  enter  at  the  door.  In  his  day  it  was  the  laugh 
ter  inspired  by  the  actual  presence  of  the  comedian, 
upon  the  stage,  that,  in  the  nature  of  things,  was 
measured  at  its  worth  and  paid  for.  A  few  hundred 
pounds  to  the  year  were  all  that  England  gave  the 
weary  penman  who  could  send  a  smile  wreathing  from 
Land's  End  to  John  o'  Groat's. 

If  a  poet,  or  aspiring  author,  must  labor  for  the 
daily  subsistence  of  a  family,  it  is  well  for  his  art 
that  he  should  follow  some  other  calling  than  jour 
nalism  ;  for  I  can  testify  that  after  the  day's  work  is 
over,  —  when  the  brain  is  exhausted  and  vagrant,  and 
the  lungs  pant  for  air,  and  body  and  soul  cry  out  for 
recreation,  —  the  intellect  has  done  enough,  and  there 
is  neither  strength  nor  passion  left  for  imaginative 
composition.  I  have  known  a  writer  who  deliberately 
left  the  editorial  profession,  for  which  he  was  adapted 
both  by  taste  and  vocation,  and  took  up  a  pursuit 
4*  F 


Poverty  un 
friendly  to 
fhe  Muse. 


82 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


which  bore  no  relation  to  letters  ;  hoping  that  author 
ship  would  proffer  him  thenceforth  the  freshness  of 
variety,  that  upon  occasion  of  loss  or  trouble  it  might 
be  his  solace  and  recompense,  and  that,  with  a  less 
jaded  brain,  what  writing  he  could  accomplish  would 
be  of  a  more  enduring  kind.  It  is  so  true,  however, 
that  one  nail  drives  out  another !  As  an  editor,  this 
person  was  unable  to  do  anything  beyond  his  news 
paper  work ;  as  a  business-man,  with  not  the  soundest 
health,  and  with  his  heart,  of  course,  not  fully  in  his 
occupation,  he  found  himself  neither  at  ease  in  his 
means,  nor  able  to  gain  sturdier  hours  for  literature 
than  vigorous  journalist-authors  filch  from  recreation 
and  sleep.  Fortunate  in  every  way  is  the  aesthetic 
writer  who  has  sufficient  income  to  support  him  alto 
gether,  or,  at  least,  when  added  to  the  stipend  earned 
by  first-class  work,  to  enable  him  to  follow  art  without 
harassment.  For  want  of  such  a  resource,  poets,  with 
their  delicate  temperaments,  may  struggle  along  from 
year  to  year,  composing  at  intervals  which  other  men 
devote  to  social  enjoyment,  rarely  doing  their  best ; 
possibly  with  masterpieces  stifled  in  their  brains  till 
the  creative  period  is  ended ;  misjudged  by  those 
whom  they  most  respect,  and  vexed  with  thoughts  of 
what  they  could  perform,  if  sacred  common  duties 
were  not  so  incumbent  upon  them. 

Nevertheless,  if  Hood's  life  had  been  one  of  scho 
lastic  ease,  in  all  likelihood  he  would  not  have  writ 
ten  that  for  which  his  name  is  cherished.  He  was 
eminently  a  journalist-poet,  and  must  be  observed  in 
that  capacity.  Continuous  editorial  labor,  .beginning 
in  1821  with  his  post  upon  The  London  Magazine, 
and  including  his  management  of  The  Comic  Annual, 
Hood's  Own,  The  Neiv  Monthly,  and,  lastly,  Hood's 


LONDON'S  POET. 


Magazine,  —  established  but  little  more  than  a  year 
before  his  death,  —  this  journalistic  experience,  doubt 
less,  gave  him  closer  knowledge  of  the  wants  and 
emotions  of  the  masses,  and  especially  of  the  popu 
lace  in  London's  murky  streets.  Even  his  facetious 
poems  depict  the  throng  upon  the  walks.  The  sweep, 
the  laborer,  the  sailor,  the  tradesman,  even  the  dumb 
beasts  that  render  service  or  companionship,  appeal 
to  his  kindly  or  mirthful  sensibilities  and  figure  in 
his  rhymes.  Thus  he  was,  also,  London's  poet,  the 
nursling  of  the  city  which  gave  him  birth,  and  now 
holds  sacred  his  resting-place  in  her  cemetery  of  Ken- 
sal  Green.  Like  the  gentle  Elia,  whom  he  resembled 
in  other  ways,  he  loved  "  the  sweet  security  of  streets," 
and  well,  indeed,  he  knew  them.  None  but  such  as 
he  could  rightly  speak  for  their  wanderers  and  poor. 
The  rich  philanthropist  or  aristocratic  author  may 
honestly  give  his  service  to  the  lower  classes,  and 
endeavor  by  contact  with  them  to  enter  into  their 
feelings,  yet  it  is  almost  impossible,  unless  nurtured 
yourself  at  the  withered  bosom  of  our  Lady  of  Pov 
erty,  to  read  the  language  of  her  patient  foster-chil 
dren.  The  relation  of  almoner  and  beneficiary  still 
exists,  a  sure  though  indefinable  barrier.  Hood  was 
not  exclusively  a  poet  of  the  people,  like  Elliott  or 
Be'ranger,  but  one  who  interpreted  the  popular  heart, 
being  himself  a  sufferer,  and  living  from  hand  to 
mouth  by  ill-requited  toil.  If  his  culture  divided  him 
somewhat  from  the  poor,  he  all  the  more  endured 
a  lack  of  that  free  confession  which  is  the  privilege 
of  those  than  whom  he  was  no  richer.  The  genteel 
poor  must  hide  their  wounds,  even  from  one  another. 
Hood  solaced  his  own  trials  by  a  plea  for  those 
"whom  he  saw  suffer."  A  man  of  kindred  genius, 


L  ondon?  s 
Poet. 


Fellowship 
of  the  poor. 


84 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


the  most  potent  of  the  band  of  humanitarian  writers, 
who,  in  his  time,  sought  to  effect  reform  by  means 
of  imaginative  art,  also  understood  the  poor,  but 
chiefly  through  the  memory  of  his  own  youthful  expe 
riences.  In  after  years  the  witchery  of  prose-romance 
brought  to  Charles  Dickens  a  competence  that  Hood 
never  could  hope  to  acquire.  Most  men  of  robust 
physical  vigor,  who  have  known  privation,  yield  to 
luxury  when  they  achieve  success,  and  Dickens  was 
no  exception ;  but  his  heart  was  with  the  multitude, 
he  never  was  quite  at  home  in  stately  mansions,  and, 
though  accused  of  snobbery  in  other  forms,  would 
admit  no  one's  claim  to  patronize  him  by  virtue  of 
either  rank  or  fortune. 

We  readily  perceive  that  Hood's  modes  of  feeling 
resembled  those  which  intensify  the  prose  of  Dickens, 
though  he  made  no  approach  to  the  latter  in  reputa 
tion  and  affluent  power.  Could  Dickens  have  written 
verse,  —  an  art  in  which  his  experiments  were,  for  the 
most  part,  utter  failures,  —  it  would  have  been  marked 
by  wit  and  pathos  like  Hood's,  and  by  graphic,  Do- 
resque  effects,  that  have  grown  to  be  called  melodra 
matic,  and  that  give  a  weird  strength  to  "  The  Dream 
of  Eugene  Aram,"  "  The  Haunted  House,"  and  to 
several  passages  in  the  death-scene  of  "  Miss  Kil- 
mansegg."  Hood  has  nearly  equalled  Dickens  in  the 
analysis  of  a  murderer's  spectral  conscience :  — 

"  But  Guilt  was  my  grim  Chamberlain 

That  lighted  me  to  bed ; 
And  drew  my  midnight  curtains  round, 
With  fingers  bloody  red  ! 

"  Merrily  rose  the  lark,  and  shook 
The  dew-drop  from  its  wing; 


HOOD  AND  DICKENS  COMPARED. 


But  I  never  mark'd  its  morning  flight, 

I  never  heard  it  sing : 
For  I  was  stooping  once  again 

Under  the  horrid  thing." 

The  old  Hall  in  "The  Haunted  House"  is  a  coun 
terpart  to  the  shadowy  grand-staircase  in  the  Ded- 
lock  Mansion,  or  to  Mr.  Tulkinghorn's  chamber, — 
where  the  Roman  points  through  loneliness  and 
gloom  to  the  dead  body  upon  the  floor.  This  poem 
is  elaborate  with  that  detail  which,  so  painful  and 
over-prolonged,  gives  force  to  many  of  Dickens's 
descriptive  interludes,  —  such  as,  for  instance,  the 
opening  chapter  of  "  Bleak  House."  The  poet  and 
the  novelist  were  fellow-workers  in  a  melodramatic 
period,  and  there  is  something  of  stage  effect  in  the 
marked  passages  of  either.  Take  an  example  from 
"  Miss  Kilmansegg  "  :  — 

"  As  she  went  with  her  taper  up  the  stair, 
How  little  her  swollen  eye  was  aware 

That  the  Shadow  which  followed  was  double! 
Or,  when  she  closed  her  chamber  door, 
It  was  shutting  out,  and  forevermore, 

The  world,  —  and  its  worldly  trouble. 

"And  when  she  quench'd  the  taper's  light, 
How  little  she  thought,  as  the  smoke  took  flight, 
That  her  day  was  done,  —  and  merged  in  a  night 
Of  dreams  and  duration  uncertain,  — 
Or,  along  with  her  own, 
That  a  Hand  of  Bone 
Was  closing  mortality's  curtain  !  " 

In  extravagance,  also,  Dickens  and  Hood  resembled 
each  other,  and  it  seems  perfectly  natural  that  the 
fantasies  of  both  should  be  illustrated  by  the  same 
Cruikshank  or  Phiz.  Both,  also,  give  us  pleasant 


Alike  in 
melodra 
matic  feel 
ing. 


Other  re 
semblances. 


86 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


glimpses  of  England's  greensward  and  hedge-rows, 
yet  the  special  walk  and  study  of  each  were  in  the 
streets  and  alleys  of  London ;  together  they  breathed 
the  same  burdened,  whispering,  emotional  atmosphere 
of  the  monster  town.  They  were  of  the  circle  which 
Jerrold  drew  around  him,  the  London  group  of  hu 
mane  satirists  and  poets.  Theirs  was  no  amateur  or 
closet  work,  but  the  flower  of  zeal  and  fellow-craft, 
which  binds  the  workmen's  hearts  together,  and 
makes  art  at  once  an  industry,  a  heroism,  and  a 
vitalizing  faith. 

Our  digression  at  length  has  brought  us  to  the 
special  group  of  lyrics  upon  which  Hood's  fame  indu 
bitably  rests.  The  manner  of  what  I  call  his  proper 
style  had  been  indicated  long  before,  in  such  pieces 
as  "  The  Elm-Tree "  and  "  The  Dream  of  Eugene 
Aram,"  of  which  the  former  is  too  prolonged,  a  still- 
life  painting,  barren  of  human  elements,  —  and  the 
latter,  as  has  been  seen,  a  remarkable  ballad,  ap 
proaching  Coleridge's  "  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner  " 
in  conception  and  form.  In  Hood's  case  the  intel 
lectual  flames  shone  more  brightly  as  his  physical 
heat  went  out ;  in  the  very  shadow  of  death  he  was 
doing  his  best,  with  a  hand  that  returned  to  the  pure 
ideals  of  his  youth,  and  a  heart  that  gained  increase 
of  gentleness  and  compassion  as  its  throbs  timed  more 
rapidly  the  brief  remainder  of  his  earthly  sojourn.  In 
his  final  year,  while  editor  of  Hood's  Magazine,  a  jour 
nal  to  which  he  literally  gave  his  life,  he  composed 
three  of  the  touching  lyrics  to  which  I  refer :  "  The 
Lay  of  the  Laborer,"  "The  Lady's  Dream,"  and 
"  The  Bridge  of  Sighs."  The  memorable  "  Song  of 
the  Shirt "  was  written  a  few  months  earlier,  having 
appeared  anonymously  in  the  preceding  Christmas 


'/•//A'  SONG   OF  THE  S1IIKT. 


«7 


number  <»l"  riinch.  With  ic;-,. nd  to  this  poem  the 
instinct  of  the  author's  devoted  wife,  who  constituted 
his  first  public,  was  prophetic  \vlicn  she  said:  "Now, 
niiiid,  Hood,  mark  my  words,  this  will  tell  wonder 
fully!  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  you  ever  did!" 
No  other  lyric  ever  was  written  that  at  once  laid  such 
hold  upon  the  finest  emotions  of  people  of  every  (lass 
or  nationality,  throughout  the  whole  reading  or  listen 
inv,  world,  —  for  it  drew  tears  from  the  eyes  of  princes, 
and  was  chanted  to  rude  music  by  ballad-mongers  in 
the  wretchedest  streets. 

The  judgment  of  the  people  has  rightly  estimated 
the  two  last  named  poems  above  their  companion 
pieces.  They  are  the  tmc<|iialled  presentment  of  their 
respective  themes,  the  expressed  blood  and  agony  of 
41  London's  he-art."  "The  Song  of  the  Shirt"  was 
the  impulsive  work  of  an  evening,  and  open  to  some 
technical  criticism.  But  who  so  cold  as  to  criticise 
it?  Consider  the  place,  the  occasion,  the  despair  of 
thousands  of  working-women  at  that  time',  and  was 
ever  moie  inspired  and  thrilling  sermon  preached  by 
a  dying  poet  ?  With  like  sacredncss  of  feeling,  and 
superior  melody,  "The  Bridge  of  Sighs"  is  a  still  more 
admirable  poem.  Jt  is  felicitously  wrought  in  a  melie 
before  almost  unused,  and  which  few  will  henceforth 
have  tin-  temerity  to  borrow:  "Who  henceforth  shall 
sing  to  thy  pipe,  <)  thrice  lamented  !  who  SCt  mouth  to 
thy  reeds?"  The  tragedy  of  its  stanzas  lies  at  the 
COW  of  our  modern  life.  The  woes  of  London,  the 
mystery  of  London  Biidy.e,  the  spirit  of  the  maleiials 
us'-d  by  Dickens  or  by  Ainsworth  in  a  score  of  tm  bid 
lomances,  —  all  these  aie  concentrated  in  this  pre 
dons  lyric,  as  if  by  chemic  process  in  the  hollow  of  a 
ring.  It  is  the  sublimation  of  charily  and  forglVCnCSS, 


88 


THOMAS  HOOD. 


"  Memorials 
of  T.  H."  : 
by  his 
daughter, 
Mrs.  Brod- 
erij>,  1860. 


the  compassion  of  the  Gospel  itself;  the  theme  is 
here  touched  once  and  forever ;  other  poets  who  have 
essayed  it,  with  few  exceptions,  have  smirched  their 
fingers,  and  soiled  or  crushed  the  shell  they  picked 
from  the  mud,  in  their  very  effort  to  redeem  it  from  pol 
lution.  The  dramatic  sorrow  which  attends  the  lot  of 
womanhood  in  the  festering  city  reaches  its  ultimate 
expression  in  "The  Bridge  of  Sighs"  and  "The  Song 
of  the  Shirt."  They  were  the  twin  prayers  which  the 
suffering  poet  sent  up  from  his  death-bed,  and,  me- 
thinks,  should  serve  as  an  expiation  for  the  errors  of 
his  simple  life. 

Our  brief  summary  of  the  experience  and  work,  of 
Thomas  Hood  has  shown  that  his  more  careful  poetry 
is  marked  by  natural  melody,  simplicity,  and  direct 
ness  of  language,  and  is  noticeable  rather  for  sweet 
ness  than  imaginative  fire.  There  are  no  strained 
and  affected  cadences  in  his  songs.  Their  diction 
is  so  clear  that  the  expression  of  the  thought  has  no 
resisting  medium,  —  a  high  excellence  in  ballad-verse. 
With  respect  to  their  sentiment,  all  must  admire  the 
absolute  health  of  Hood's  poetry  written  during  years 
of  prostration  and  disease.  He  warbled  cheering  and 
trustful  music,  either  as  a  foil  to  personal  distress,  — 
which  would  have  been  quite  too  much  to  bear,  had 
he  encountered  its  echo  in  his  own  voice,  —  or  else 
through  a  manly  resolve  that,  come  what  might,  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  poetry  of  despair. 
The  man's  humor,  also,  buoyed  him  up,  and  thus  was 
its  own  exceeding  great  reward. 

How  prolonged  his  worldly  trials  were,  —  what  were 
the  privations  and  constant  apprehensions  of  the  lit 
tle  group  beneath  his  swaying  roof-tree,  —  something 
of  this  is  told  in  the  Memorials  compiled  by  his 


DISTRESS  AND  HEROISM. 


89 


daughter,  and  annotated  by  his  son,  —  the  Tom  Hooc 
of  our  day:  an  imperfect  and  disarranged  biography 
yet  one  which  few  can  read  without  emotion.  II' 
health  lessened  his  power  to  work,  and  kept  him 
poor,  and  poverty  in  turn  reacted  disastrously  upon 
his  health.  With  all  his  reputation  he  was  a  literary 
hack,  whose  income  varied  as  the  amount  of  writing 
he  could  execute  in  a  certain  time.  To  such  a  man, 
however,  the  devotion  of  his  family,  and  the  love  of 
Jane  Reynolds,  —  his  heroic,  accomplished  wife,  a 
woman  in  every  way  fit  to  be  the  companion  of  an 
artist  and  poet,  —  were  abundant  compensation  for 
his -patient  struggle  in  their  behalf.  To  the  last  mo 
ment,  propped  up  in  bed,  bleeding  from  the  lungs, 
almost  in  the  agony  of  death,  he  labored  equally  in  a 
serious  or  sportive  vein ;  but  while  thousands  were 
relishing  his  productions,  they  gave  no  delight  to  the 
anxious  circle  at  home.  One  passage  in  the  Memo 
rials  tells  the  whole  sad  story :  "  His  own  family 
never  enjoyed  his  quaint  and  humorous  fancies,  for 
they  were  all  associated  with  memories  of  illness  and 
anxiety.  Although  Hood's  Comic  Annual,  as  he  him 
self  used  to  remark  with  pleasure,  was  in  every  home 
seized  upon,  and  almost  worn  out  by  the  handling 
of  little  fingers,  his  own  children  did  not  enjoy  it  till 
the  lapse  of  many  years  had  mercifully  softened  down 
some  of  the  sad  recollections  connected  with  it." 

The  sorrow  and  anguish  of  the  closing  hours  were 
not  without  their  alleviation.  His  last  letter  was  writ 
ten  to  Sir  Robert  Peel,  in  gratitude  for  the  pension 
conferred  on  Mrs.  Hood.  When  it  was  known  that 
he  lay  dying,  public  and  private  sympathy,  for  which 
he  cared  so  greatly,  comforted  him  in  unnumbered 
ways.  His  friends,  neighbors,  brother-authors,  read- 


The  poet's 
distress  and 
heroism. 


Sympathy 
of  the  Eng- 
'ish  people. 


9o 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


T.  H.  died 
in  London^ 
May  3,  1845. 


ers,  and  admirers,  throughout  the  kingdom,  alike  pro 
foundly  touched,  gave  him  words  of  consolation  as 
well  as  practical  aid.  A  new  generation  has  arisen 
since  his  death  at  the  age  of  forty-six,  but  it  is  pleas 
ant  to  remember  the  eagerness  and  generosity  with 
which,  seven  years  afterward,  the  English  people  con 
tributed  to  erect  the  beautiful  monument  that  stands 
above  his  grave.  The  rich  gave  their  guineas;  the 
poor  artisans  and  laborers,  the  needlewomen  and 
dress-makers,  in  hosts,  their  shillings  and  pence.  Be 
neath  the  image  of  the  poet,  which  rests  upon  the 
structure,  are  sculptured  the  words  which  he  himself, 
with  a  still  unsatisfied  yearning  for  the  affection  of 
his  fellow-beings,  —  and  a  beautiful  perception  of  the 
act  for  which  it  long  should  be  rendered  to  his  mem 
ory,  —  devised  for  the  inscription :  "He  sang  THE 
SONG  OF  THE  SHIRT." 


III. 

FROM  the  grave  of  Hood  we  pass  to  observe  a  liv 
ing  writer,  in  some  respects  his  antipode,  who  deals 
with  precisely  those  elements  of  modern  life  which 
the  former  had  least  at  heart.  It  is  true  that  Mat 
thew  Arnold,  whose  first  volume  was  issued  in  1848, 
had  little  reputation  as  a  poet  until  some  years  after 
Hood's  decease;  but  up  to  that  time  English  verse 
was  not  marked  by  its  present  extreme  variety,  nor 
had  the  so-called  school  of  culture  obtained  a  foot 
hold.  Arnold's  circumstances  have  been  more  favor 
able  than  Hood's,  and  in  youth  his  mental  discipline 
was  thorough ;  yet  the  humorist  was  the  truer  poet, 
although  three  fourths  of  his  productions  never  should 
have  been  written,  and  although  there  scarcely  is  a 


A    POET  OF  THE  INTELLECT. 


line  of  Arnold's  which  is  not  richly  worth  preserving. 
It  may  be  said  of  Hood  that  he  was  naturally  a  bet 
ter  poet  than  circumstances  permitted  him  to  prove 
himself;  of  Arnold,  that  through  culture  and  good 
fortune  he  has  achieved  greater  poetical  successes 
than  one  should  expect  from  his  native  gifts.  His 
verse  often  is  the  result,  not  of  "the  first  intention," 
but  of  determination  and  judgment;  yet  his  taste  is 
so  cultivated,  and  his  mind  so  clear,  that,  between  the 
two,  he  has  o'erleapt  the  bounds  of  nature,  and  almost 
falsified  the  adage  that  a  poet  is  born,  not  made. 

Certainly  he  is  an  illustrious  example  of  the  power 
of  training  and  the  human  will.  Lacking  the  ease  of 
the  lyrist,  the  boon  of  a  melodious  voice,  he  has,  by 
a  tour  de  force,  composed  poems  which  show  little 
deficiency  of  either  gift,  —  has  won  reputation,  and 
impressed  himself  upon  his  age,  as  the  apostle  of 
culture,  spiritual  freedom,  and  classical  restraint. 

There  is  a  passion  of  the  voice  and  a  passion  of 
the  brain.  If  Arnold,  as  a  singer,  lacks  spontaneity, 
his  intellectual  processes,  on  the  contrary,  are  spon 
taneous,  and  sometimes  rise  to  a  loftiness  which  no 
mere  lyrist,  without  unusual  mental  faculty,  can  ever 
attain.  His  head  not  only  predominates,  but  exalts 
his  somewhat  languid  heart.  A  poet  once  sang  of  a 
woman,  — 

"  Affections  are  as  thoughts  to  her," 

but  thought  with  Arnold  is  poetical  as  affection,  and 
in  a  measure  supplies  its  place.  He  has  an  intellect 
ual  love  for  the  good,  beautiful,  or  true,  but  imparts 
to  us  a  vague  impression  that,  like  a  certain  American 
statesman,  he  cares  less  for  man  in  the  concrete  than 
for  man  in  the  abstract,  —  a  not  unusual  phenomenon 
among  aesthetic  reformers.  While  admiring  his  de- 


A  mold  and 
Hood. 


A  poet  of  the 
intellect. 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


Wanting  in 
lyrical  flow. 


lineations  of  Pteine,  the  De  Guefins,  Joubert,  and 
other  far-away  saints  or  heroes,  we  feel  that  he  pos 
sibly  may  overlook  some  pilgrim  at  his  roadside-door. 
Such  is  the  effect  of  his  writings,  at  this  distance, 
and  it  is  by  his  works  that  an  artist  chiefly  should  be 
judged. 

Through  the  whole  course  of  Arnold's  verse  one 
searches  in  vain  for  a  blithe,  musical,  gay,  or  serious 
off-hand  poem :  such,  for  example,  as  Thackeray's 
"Bouillabaisse,"  Allingham's  "Mary  Donnelly,"  Hood's 
"I  Remember,  I  Remember,"  or  Kingsley's  "The 
Sands  o'  Dee."  Yet  he  can  be  very  nobly  lyrical  in 
certain  uneven  measures  depending  upon  tone,  and 
which,  like  "  Philomela,"  express  an  ecstatic  sensi 
bility  :  — 

"  Hark  !  ah,  the  nightingale ! 
The  tawny-throated ! 

Hark  !  from  that  moonlit  cedar  what  a  burst ! 
What  triumph  !  hark  —  what  pain  ! 

"  Listen,  Eugenia  — 
How  thick  the  bursts  come  crowding  through  the  leaves ! 

Again  —  thou  hearest ! 
Eternal  Passion! 
Eternal  Pain ! " 

In  other  poems,  which  reveal  his  saddest  or  pro- 
foundest  intellectual  moods,  he  is  subjective  and 
refutes  his  own  theory.  For  his  work  claims  to  be 
produced  upon  a  theory,  —  that  of  epic  or  classical 
objectivity,  well  and  characteristically  set  forth  in 
the  preface  to  his  edition  of  1854.  Possibly  this 
was  written  shortly  after  the  completion  of  some 
purely  objective  poem,  like  "  Sohrab  and  Rustum," 
and  the  theory  deduced  from  the  performance.  An 


HIS  LIMITATIONS. 


93 


objective  method  is  well  suited  to  a  man  of  large 
or  subtile  intellect  and  educated  tastes,  who  is 
deficient  in  the  minor  sympathies.  Through  it  he 
can  allow  his  imagination  full  play,  and  give  a 
pleasure  to  readers  without  affecting  that  feminine 
instinct  which  really  is  not  a  constituent  of  his 
poetic  mould. 

Arnold  has  little  quality  or  lightness  of  touch.  His 
hand  is  stiff,  his  voice  rough  by  nature,  yet  both  are 
refined  by  practice  and  thorough  study  of  the  best 
models.  His  shorter  metres,  used  as  the  framework 
of  songs  and  lyrics,  rarely  are  successful ;  but  through 
youthful  familiarity  with  the  Greek  choruses  he  has 
caught  something  of  their  irregular  beauty.  "  The 
Strayed  Reveller  "  has  much  of  this  unfettered  charm. 
Arnold  is  restricted  in  the  range  of  his  affections  ;  but 
that  he  is  one  of  those  who  can  love  very  loyally  the 
few  with  whom  they  do  enter  into  sympathy,  through 
consonance  of  traits  or  experiences,  is  shown  in  the 
emotional  poems  entitled  "  Faded  Leaves  "  and  "  In 
difference,"  and  in  later  pieces,  which  display  more 
lyrical  fluency,  "  Calais  Sands  "  and  "  Dover  Beach." 
A  prosaic  manner  injures  many  of  his  lyrics :  at  least, 
he  does  not  seem  clearly  to  distinguish  between  the 
functions  of  poetry  and  of  prose.  He  is  more  at  ease 
in  long,  stately,  and  swelling  measures,  whose  graver 
movement  accords  with  a  serious  and  elevated  pur 
pose.  Judged  as  works  of  art,  "  Sohrab  and  Rustum  " 
and  "  Balder  Dead  "  really  are  majestic  poems.  Their 
blank-verse,  while  independent  of  Tennyson's,  is  the 
result,  like  that  of  the  "  Morte  d' Arthur,"  of  its 
author's  Homeric  studies ;  is  somewhat  too  slow  in 
Balder  Dead,  and  fails  of  the  antique  simplicity,  but 
is  terse,  elegant,  and  always  in  "  the  grand  manner." 


His  limita 
tions. 


His  blank- 
verse. 


"  Balder 
Dead." 


94 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


Upon  the  whole,  this  is  a  remarkable  production  ;  it 
stands  at  the  front  of  all  experiments  in  a  field  remote 
as  the  northern  heavens  and  almost  as  glacial  and 
clear.  Fifty  lines,  which  describe  the  burning  of  Bal- 
der's  ship,  —  his  funeral  pyre,  —  have  an  imaginative 
grandeur  rarely  excelled  in  the  "Idyls  of  the  King." 
Such  work  is  what  lay  beyond  Hood's  power  even  to 
attempt ;  and  shows  the  larger  mould  of  Arnold's  intel 
lect.  A  first-class  genius  would  display  the  varying 
endowments  of  them  both. 

Sohrab  and  Riistum  is  a  still  finer  poem,  because 
more  human,  and  more  complete  in  itself.  The  verse 
is  not  so  devoid  of  epic  swiftness.  The  powerful 
conception  of  the  relations  between  the  two  chieftains, 
and  the  slaying  of  the  son  by  the  father,  are  tragical 
and  heroic.  The  descriptive  passage  at  the  close,  for 
diction  and  breadth  of  tone,  would  do  honor  to  any 
living  poet :  — 

"  But  the  majestic  river  floated  on, 
Out  of  the  mist  and  hum  of  that  low  land, 
Into  the  frosty  starlight,  and  there  moved, 
Rejoicing,  through  the  hushed  Chorasmian  waste 
Under  the  solitary  moon  :  he  flowed 
Right  for  the  Polar  Star,  past  Orgunje, 
Brimming,  and  bright,  and  large  :  then  sands  begin 
To  hem  his  watery  march,  and  dam  his  streams, 
And  split  his  currents ;  that  for  many  a  league 
The  shorn  and  parcelled  Oxus  strains  along 
Through  beds  of  sand  and  matted  rushy  isles,  — 
Oxus,  forgetting  the  bright  speed  he  had 
In  his  high  mountain  cradle  in  Pamere, 
A  foiled  circuitous  wanderer :  —  till  at  last 
The  longed-for  dash  of  waves  is  heard,  and  wide 
His  luminous  home  of  waters  opens,  bright 
And  tranquil,  from  whose  floor  the  new-bathed  stars 
P^merge,  and  shine  upon  the  Aral  Sea." 


PREFERENCE  FOR    THE  ANTIQUE. 


95 


"  Tristram  and  Iseult,"  an  obscure,  monotonous  va 
riation  upon  a  well-worn  theme,  is  far  inferior  to 
either  of  the  foregoing  episodes.  "  The  Sick  King 
in  Bokhara  "  and  "  Mycerinus  "  are  better  works,  but 
Arnold's  narrative  poems,  and  the  "  Empedocles  on 
Etna,"  —  his  classical  drama,  —  are  studies,  in  an  age 
which  he  deems  uncreative,  of  as  many  forms  of  early 
art,  and  successively  undertaken  in  default  of  con 
genial  latter-day  themes.  Their  author,  a  poet  and 
scholar,  offers,  as  an  escape  from  certain  heresies, 
and  as  a  substitute  for  poetry  of  the  natural  kind,  a 
recurrence  to  antique  or  mediaeval  thought  and  forms. 
However  well  executed,  is  this  a  genuine  addition  to 
literature?  I  have  elsewhere  said  that  finished  repro 
ductions  cannot  be  accepted  in  lieu  of  a  nation's 
spontaneous  song. 

Arnold  thus  explains  his  own  position :  "  In  the 
sincere  endeavor  to  learn  and  practise,  amid  the 
bewildering  confusion  of  our  times,  what  is  sound 
and  true  in  poetical  art,  I  seemed  to  myself  to  find 
the  only  sure  guidance,  the  only  solid  footing,  among 
the  ancients.  They,  at  any  rate,  knew  what  they 
wanted  in  Art,  and  we  do  not.  It  is  this  uncer 
tainty  which  is  disheartening,  and  not  hostile  criti 
cism."  This  is  frank  and  noteworthy  language,  but 
does  not  the  writer  protest  too  much  ?  Are  not  his 
sadness  and  doubt  an  unconscious  confession  of 
his  own  special  restrictions,  —  restrictions  other  than 
those  which,  as  he  perceives,  belong  to  England  in 
her  weary  age,  or  those  which,  in  a  period  of  transi 
tion  from  the  phenomenal  to  the  scientific,  are  com 
mon  to  the  whole  literary  world  ?  Were  he  a  greater 
poet,  or  even  a  small,  sweet  singer,  would  he  stop  to 
reason  so  curiously?  Rather  would  he  chant  and 


Objective 
themes. 


Preface  to 
edition  of 
1854. 


96 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


His  mental 
structure 
and  atti 
tude. 


chant    away,    to    ease    his    quivering    heartstrings    of 
some  impassioned  strain. 

We  cannot  accept  his  implication  that  he  was  born 
too  late,  since  by  this  very  reflection  of  the  unrest 
and  bewilderment  of  our  time  he  holds  his  represent 
ative  position  in  the  present  survey.  The  generation 
listens  with  interest  to  a  thinker  of  his  speculative 
cast.  He  is  the  pensive,  doubting  Hamlet  of  modern 
verse,  saying  of  himself :  "  Dii  me  tcrrent,  et  Jupiter 
hostis !  Two  kinds  of  dilettanti,  says  Goethe,  there  are 
in  poetry:  he  who  neglects  the  indispensable  mechan 
ical  part,  and  thinks  he  has  done  enough  if  he  shows 
spirituality  and  feeling;  and  he  who  seeks  to  arrive 
at  poetry  by  mere  mechanism,  in  which  he  can  acquire 
an  artisan's  readiness,  and  is  without  soul  and  matter. 
And  he  adds,  that  the  first  does  the  most  harm  to 
Art,  and  the  last  to  himself."  Quite  as  frankly  Ar 
nold  goes  on  to  enroll  himself  among  dilettanti  of  the 
latter  class.  These  he  places,  inasmuch  as  they  pre 
fer  Art  to  themselves,  before  those  who,  with  less  rev 
erence,  exhibit  merely  spirituality  and  feeling.  Here, 
let  me  say,  he  is  unjust  to  himself,  for  much  of  his 
verse  combines  beautiful  and  conscientious  workman 
ship  with  the  purest  sentiment,  and  has  nothing  of 
dilettanteism  about  it.  This  often  is  where  he  for 
sakes  his  own  theory,  and  writes  subjectively.  "  The 
Buried  Life,"  "  A  Summer  Night,"  and  a  few  other 
pieces  in  the  same  key,  are  to  me  the  most  poetical 
of  his  efforts,  because  they  are  the  outpourings  of  his 
own  heart,  and  show  of  what  exalted  tenderness  and 
ideality  he  is  capable.  A  note  of  ineffable  sadness 
still  arises  through  them  all.  A  childlike  disciple  of 
Wordsworth,  he  is  not,  like  his  master,  a  law  and 
comfort  to  himself;  a  worshipper  of  Goethe,  he  at- 


MENTAL   STRUCTURE  AND  ATTITUDE. 


97 


tributes,  with  unwitting  egotism,  his  inability  to  vie 
with  the  sage  of  Weimar,  not  to  a  deficiency  in  his 
own  nature,  but  to  the  distraction  of  the  age :  — 

"  But  we,  brought  forth  and  reared  in  hours 

Of  change,  alarm,  surprise,  — 
What  shelter  to  grow  ripe  is  ours  ? 
What  leisure  to  grow  wise  ? 

"  Too  fast  we  live,  too  much  are  tried, 

Too  harassed,  to  attain 
Wordsworth's  sweet  calm,  or  Goethe's  wide 
And  luminous  view  to  gain." 

Arnold  falters  upon  the  march,  conscious  of  a  mission 
too  weighty  for  him  to  bear,  —  that  of  spiritualizing 
what  he  deems  an  era  of  unparalleled  materialism. 
The  age  is  dull  and  mean,  he  cries, 

"  The  time  is  out  of  joint ;  O,  cursed  spite  ! 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right." 

And  as  Hamlet,  in  action,  was  inferior  to  lesser  per 
sonages  around  him,  he  thus  yields  to  introspection, 
while  protesting  against  it,  and  falls  behind  the  bard 
of  a  fresher  inspiration,  or  more  propitious  time.  In 
all  this  we  discern  the  burden  of  a  thoughtful  man, 
who  in  vain  longs  to  create  some  masterpiece  of  art, 
and  whose  yearning  and  self-esteem  make  him  loath 
to  acknowledge  his  limitations,  even  to  himself. 

In  certain  poems,  breathing  the  spirit  of  the  tired 
scholar's  query,  —  "  What  is  the  use  ?  "  he  betrays  a 
suspicion  that  knowledge  is  not  of  itself  a  joy,  and 
an  envy  of  the  untaught,  healthy  children  of  the  wild. 
Extremes  meet,  and  this  is  but  the  old  reaction  from 
over-culture  ;  the  desire  of  the  wrestler  for  new  strength 
from  Mother  Earth.  "The  Youth  of  Nature,"  "The 
Youth  of  Man,"  and  "  The  Future,"  are  the  fruit  of 
5  G 


Reaction 
from  over- 
culture. 


98 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


Clough  and 
A  mold. 


these  doubts  and  longings,  and,  at  times,  half  sick  of 
bondage,  he  is  almost  persuaded  to  be  a  wanderer  and 
freeman.  "  The  Scholar  Gipsy "  is  a  highly  poetical 
composition,  full  of  idyllic  grace,  and  equally  subtile 
in  the  beauty  of  its  topic  and  thought  The  poet, 
and  his  poet-friend,  Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  in  their 
wanderings  around  Oxford,  realize  that  the  life  of  the 
vagrant  "  scholar  poor  "  was  finer  than  their  own  :  — 

"  For  early  didst  thou  leave  the  world,  with  powers 
Fresh,  undiverted  to  the  world  without, 

Firm  to  their  mark,  not  spent  on  other  things  : 
Free  from  the  sick  fatigue,  the  languid  doubt, 

Which  much  to  have  tried,  in  much  been  baffled,  brings. 

•   O  Life,  unlike  to  ours  !  " 

In  after  years  Clough  himself  broke  away  somewhat 
from  the  trammels  which  these  lines  deplore.  Arnold 
says  of  him,  in  "Thyrsis," 

"It  irked  him  to  be  here, — he  could  not  rest. 

He  loved  each  simple  joy  the  country  yields, 
He  loved  his  mates ;  but  yet  he  could  not  keep, 
For  that  a  shadow  lowered  on  the  fields. 

He  went !  " 

But  even  Clough  made  no  such  approach  as  our  own 
Thoreau  to  the  natural  freedom  of  which  he  was  by 
spells  enamored.  And  who  can  affirm  that  Thoreau 
truly  found  the  secret  of  content  ?  Was  not  his  ideal, 
even  as  he  seemed  to  clutch  it,  as  far  as  ever  from 
his  grasp  ? 

"Thyrsis,"  Arnold's  more  recent  idyl, — "  a  monody 
to  commemorate  the .  author's  friend,"  —  is  the  exqui 
site  complement  of  "  The  Scholar  Gipsy."  It  is 
another,  and  one  of  the  best,  of  the  successful  Eng- 


THE   CRITICAL  FACULTY  IN  POETS. 


99 


lish  imitations  of  Bion  and  Moschus  •  among  which 
"  Lycidas  "  is  the  most  famous,  though  some  question 
whether  Swinburne,  in  his  "  Ave  atque  Vale"  has  not 
surpassed  them  all.  Before  the  appearance  of  the 
last-named  elegy,  I  wrote  of  "  Thyrsis "  that  it  was 
noticeable  for  exhibiting  the  precise  amount  of  aid 
which  classicism  can  render  to  the  modern  poet.  As 
a  threnode,  nothing  comparable  to  it  had  then  appeared 
since  the  "  Adonais  "  of  Shelley.  If  not  its  author's 
farewell  to  verse,  it  has  been  his  latest  poem  of  any 
note ;  and,  like  "  The  Scholar  Gipsy,"  probably  ex 
hibits  the  highest  reach  of  melody,  vigor,  and  imagi 
nation,  which  it  is  within  his  power  to  show  us. 

That  the  bent  of  Arnold's  faculty  lies  in  the  direc 
tion  rather  of  criticism  and  argument  than  of  imagi 
native  literature,  is  evident  from  the  increase  of  his 
prose-work  in  volume  and  significance.  Some  of  the 
most  perfect  criticism  ever  written  is  to  be  found  in 
his  essays,  of  which  that  "On  Translating  Homer" 
will  serve  for  an  example.  He  carries  easily  in  prose 
those  problems  of  religion,  discovery,  and  aesthetics 
which  so  retard  his  verse  •  is  thoroughly  at  home  in 
polemic  discussion,  and  a  most  keen  and  resolute 
opponent  to  all  who  heretically  gainsay  him.  The 
critical  faculty  is  not  of  itself  incompatible  with  im 
aginative  and  creative  power.  We  are  indebted  for 
lasting  aesthetic  canons  to  great  poets  of  various  eras. 
Even  the  fragmentary  comments  and  marginalia  of 
Goethe,  Byron,  Landor,  Coleridge,  etc.,  are  full  of 
point  and  suggestion.  For  one,  I  believe  that,  as  able 
lawyers  are  the  best  judges  of  a  lawyer's  powers  and 
attainments,  so  the  painters,  sculptors,  musicians,  and 
poets  are  most  competent  to  decide  upon  the  merits 
of  works  in  their  respective  departments  of  art,  — 


Prose- 

writings. 


The  critical 
faculty  in 
poets. 


100 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


Bryan  Wal 
ler  Procter : 
born  in 
Wiltshire, 
Nov.  21, 

1789. 


though  not  always,  being  human,  openly  honest  and 
unprejudiced.  Doubtless  many  lawyers  will  assent  to 
the  first  portion  of  this  statement,  and  scout  the 
remainder.  But,  at  all  events,  poets,  like  other  men, 
are  wont  to  become  more  thoughtful  as  they  grow 
older,  and  I  do  not  see  that  the  work  of  the  masters 
has  suffered  for  it.  Arnold,  however,  is  so  much 
greater  as  a  writer  of  critical  prose  than  as  a  poet, 
that  people  have  learned  where  to  look  for  his  genius, 
and  where  for  his  talent  and  sensibility. 

His  essays  are  illuminated  by  his  poetic  imagina 
tion,  and  he  thus  becomes  a  better  prose-writer  than 
a  mere  didactician  ever  could  be.  In  fine,  we  may 
regard  Matthew  Arnold's  poetry  as  an  instance  of  what 
elevated  verse,  in  this  period,  can  be  written,  with 
comparatively  little  spontaneity,  by  a  man  whose  vig 
orous  intellect  is  etherealized  by  culture  and  deliber 
ately  creates  for  itself  an  atmosphere  of  "  sweetness 
and  light." 


IV. 

A  WIDE  leap,  indeed,  from  Matthew  Arnold  to 
"  Barry  Cornwall,"  —  under  which  familiar  and  mu 
sical  lyronym  Bryan  Waller  Procter  has  had  more 
singers  of  his  songs  than  students  of  his  graver 
pages.  No  lack  of  spontaneity  here !  Freedom  is 
the  life  and  soul  of  his  delicious  melodies,  composed 
during  thraldom  to  the  most  prosaic  work,  yet  tune 
ful  as  the  carols  of  a  lark  upon  the  wing.  It  is  hard 
to  think  of  Procter  as  a  lawyer,  who  used  to  chant 
to  himself  in  a  London  omnibus,  on  his  daily  jour 
neys  to  and  from  the  city.  He  is  a  natural  vocalist, 
were  it  not  for  whom  we  might  almost  affirm  that 


SPECIAL   QUALITY  OF  THE  SONG. 


101 


song-making,  the  sweetest  feature  of  England's  most 
poetical  period,  is  a  lost  art,  or,  at  least,  suspended 
during  the  present  reign.  There  never  was  a  time 
when  little  poems  were  more  abundant,  or  more  care 
fully  finished,  but  a  lyric  may  be  exquiste'  £nd,  yej: 
not  possess  the  attributes  of  a  successful  song. 

I  can  recall  a  multitude  of  such  produc/ion's,  e,ac^ 
well  worth  a  place  in  any  lyrical  "  treasury " ;  among 
them,  some  that  are  graceful,  touching,  refined  to  per 
fection  ;  yet  all  addressed  as  much  to  the  eye  as  to 
the  ear,  —  to  be  read  with  tone  and  feeling,  it  may  be, 
but  not  really  demanding  to  be  sung.  The  special 
quality  of  the  song  is  that,  however  carelessly  fash 
ioned,  it  seems  alive  with  the  energy  of  music;  the 
voice  of  its  stanzas  has  a  constant  tendency  to  break 
into  singing,  as  a  bird,  running  swiftly,  breaks  into 
flying,  half  unawares.  You  at  once  associate  true 
songs  with  music,  and  if  no  tunes  have  been  set  to 
them,  they  haunt  the  mind  and  "beat  time  to  noth 
ing"  in  the  brain.  The  spirit  of  melody  goes  hunt 
ing  for  them,  just  as  a  dancing-air  seeks  and  enters 
the  feet  of  all  within  its  circuit.  Procter's  lays  have 
this  vocal  quality,  and  are  of  the  genuine  kind.  To 
freedom  and  melody  he  adds  more  refinement  than 
any  song-writer  of  his  time,  and  has  a  double  right  to 
his  station  in  the  group  under  review. 

His  stanzaic  poems  have,  in  fact,  the  rare  merit  of 
uniting  the  grace  and  imagery  of  the  lyric  to  the 
music  and  fashion  of  song.  It  is  well  to  look  at  this 
conjunction.  The  poet  Stoddard,  in  a  preface  to  his 
selection  of  English  Madrigals,  pronounces  the  lyric 
to  be  "  a  purer,  as  it  certainly  was  an  earlier,  mani 
festation  of  the  element  which  underlies  the  song," 
and  says  that  "  there  are  no  songs,  modernly  speak- 


Special 
quality  of 
the  song. 


"  Melodies 
and  Madri 
gals"  New 
York,  1866. 


102 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


Barry  Corn 
wall  a  lyrist 
and  true 
song-  writer. 


ing,  in  Shakespeare  and  the  Elizabethan  dramatists, 
but  lyrics  in  abundance."  His  distinction  between  a 
lyric  and  a  song  is  that  the  one  is  "  a  simple,  un 
studied  expression  of  thought,  sentiment,  or  passion ; 
the  Qther  '.its  expression  according  to  the  mode  of 


the 


clay.'*      Unquestionably    the    abundant    songs    of 


tjije.  'eighteenth:  century,  and  those,  even,  of  the  gen 
eration  when  Moore  was  at  his  prime,  are  greatly  in 
ferior  as  poetry  to  the  lyrics  of  the  early  dramatists. 
Yet,  were  not  the  latter  songs  as  well,  save  that  the 
mode  of  their  day  was  more  delicate,  ethereal,  fine, 
and  strong?  It  seems  to  me  that  such  of  the  early 
lyrics  as  were  written  to  music  possess  thereby  the 
greater  charm.  And  the  songs  of  Barry  Cornwall, 
beyond  those  of  any  other  modern,  have  an  excel 
lence  of  "  mode "  which  renders  them  akin  to  the 
melodies  of  Shakespeare,  Marlowe,  Jonson,  Heywood, 
Fletcher,  and  to  the  choicer  treasures  of  Davisori, 
and  of  the  composers,  Byrd,  Wilbye,  and  Weelkes. 
They  are,  at  once,  delightful  to  poets  and  dear  to 
the  singing  commonalty.  I  refer,  of  course,  to  their 
pervading  character.  It  may  be  that  none  are  so  ab 
solutely  flawless  as  the  Bugle-Song  of  Tennyson.  The 
melody  and  dying  fall  of  that  lyric  are  almost  with 
out  comparison  this  side  of  Amiens'  ditties  in  "  As 
You  Like  It"  and  Ariel's  in  "The  Tempest."  But 
how  few  there  are  of  Procter's  numerous  songs  which 
stand  lower  than  the  nearest  place  beneath  it !  Many 
of  them  excel  it  in  swiftness,  zest,  outdoor  quality, 
and  would  be  more  often  trolled  along  the  mountain 
side,  upon  the  ocean,  or  under  the  greenwood-tree. 

The  fountain  of  Procter's  melody  has  not  so  long 
been  sealed  as  to  exclude  him  from  our  synod  of  the 
later  poets,  although  —  how  strange  it  seems  !  —  he 


LEIGH  HUNT. 


103 


was  the  schoolfellow  of  Byron  at  Harrow,  and  won 
popular  successes  when  he  was  the  friend  and  as 
sociate  of  Hunt,  Lamb,  and  Keats.  Born  ten  years 
earlier  than  Hood,  he  was  before  the  public  in  time 
to  act  the  prophet,  and  in  the  dedication  of  "  The 
Genealogists "  predicted  the  humorist's  later  fame. 
He  dates  back  in  years,  not  in  literature,  almost  as 
far  as  Landor,  and  like  him  was  among  the  foremost 
to  discern  the  new  spirit  of  poetry  and  to  assist  in 
giving  it  form.  In  a  preface  to  his  "  Dramatic  Scenes  " 
he  tells  us :  "  The  object  that  I  had  in  view,  when  I 
wrote  these  scenes,  was  to  try  the  effect  of  a  more 
natural  style  than  that  which  has  for  a  long  time  pre 
vailed  in  our  dramatic  literature.  I  have  endeavored 
to  mingle  poetical  imagery  with  natural  emotion." 
Like  Landor,  also,  he  performed  some  of  his  best 
work  at  dates  well  toward  the  middle  of  this  cen 
tury  ;  in  fact,  it  is  upon  songs  given  to  the  public 
during  the  fourth  and  fifth  decades  that  his  influence 
and  fame  depend.  This  has  led  me  to  consider  him 
among  recent  poets,  rather  than  in  his  youthful  atti 
tude  as  the  pupil  of  Leigh  Hunt. 

Hunt's  poetic  mission  (taken  apart  from  his  career 
as  a  radical)  was  of  note  between  1815  and  1830,  and 
was  that  of  a  propagandist.  Without  much  originality, 
he  was  a  poet  of  sweetness,  fluency,  and  sensibility, 
who  became  filled  with  the  art-spirit  of  Keats  and 
his  masters,  and  both  by  precept  and  example  was  a 
potent  force  in  its  dissemination.  Beyond  the  posi 
tion  attained  as  a  shining  light  of  what  was  derisively 
called  "The  Cockney  School,"  Leigh  Hunt  made  little 
progress.  He  lived,  it  is  true,  until  1859,  —  a  writer 
of  dainty  verse  and  most  delightful  prose,  beloved  by 
the  reading  world,  and  viewed  with  a  queer  mixture 


A  pioneer. 


James 
Henry 
Leigh 
Hunt. 

1784-1859. 


IO4 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


of  pity,  reverence,  and  affection,  by  his  younger 
brethren  of  the  craft.  Procter's  early  studies  were 
influenced  by  Keats  and  Hunt,  to  whose  work  he  was 
attracted  by  affinity  with  the  methods  of  their  Eliza 
bethan  models,  as  opposed  to  those  of  Byron  and  Scott. 
His  nature,  also,  was  too  robust — and  too  aesthetic  — 
to  acquire  any  taste  for  the  metaphysical  processes 
of  Wordsworth,  which  were  ultimately  to  shape  the 
mind,  even  as  Keats  begat  the  body,  of  the  idyllic 
Victorian  School.  The  fact  that  Procter's  genius  was 
essentially  dramatic  finally  gave  him  a  position  inde 
pendent  of  Keats,  and,  against  external  restrictions, 
drew  him  far  ahead  of  Hunt,  who  —  whatever  he  may 
have  been  as  critic  and  essayist  —  was  in  all  respects 
the  lesser  poet.  Nevertheless,  those  restrictions  com 
pelled  Procter,  as  Landor  was  compelled,  to  forego  the 
work  at  which  he  would  have  been  greatest,  and  to 
exercise  his  gift  only  in  a  fragmentary  or  lyrical  man 
ner.  He  found  the  period,  between  the  outlets  of 
expression  afforded  by  the  newspaper  and  the  novel, 
unsuited  to  the  reception  of  objectively  dramatic  verse, 
though  well  enough  disposed  toward  that  of  an  intro 
spective  kind.  In  short,  Procter  at  this  time  was  —  as 
Miss  Hillard  has  felicitously  entitled  his  early  friend, 
Thomas  Lovell  Beddoes  —  a  "  strayed  singer,"  —  an 
Elizabethan  who  had  wandered  into  the  nineteenth 
century.  His  organization  included  an  element  of 
practical  common-sense,  which  led  him  to  adapt  him 
self,  as  far  as  possible,  to  circumstances,  and,  forbear 
ing  a  renewal  of  sustained  and  lonely  explorations,  to 
vent  his  natural  impulses  in  the  "  short  swallow-flights 
of  song  "  to  which  he  owes  his  reputation.  The  love 
of  minstrelsy  is  perpetual.  Barry  Cornwall,  the  song 
writer,  has  found  a  place  among  his  people,  and 


EARLY  WRITINGS. 


105 


developed  to  the  rarest  excellence  at  least  one  faculty 
of  his  poetic  gift. 

But  we  have,  first,  to  consider  him  as  a  pupil  of 
the  renaissance  :  a  poet  of  what  may  be  termed  the 
interregnum  between  Byron  and  Tennyson,  —  for  the 
Byronic  passion  is  absolutely  banished  from  the  idyllic 
strains  of  Tennyson  and  his  followers,  who,  neverthe 
less,  betray  the  influences  of  Wordsworth  and  Keats 
in  wedded  force.  Procter's  early  writings  were  em 
braced  in  three  successive  volumes  of  Dramatic  Scenes^ 
etc.,  which  appeared  in  1819-21,  and  met  with  a 
friendly  reception.  Some  of  the  plays  were  headed 
by  quotations  from  Massinger,  Webster,  and  such 
dramatists,  and  otherwise  indicated  the  author's  choice 
of  models.  His  verse,  though  uneven,  was  occasion 
ally  poetical  and  strong.  There  is  breadth  of  hand 
ling  in  these  lines  from  "  The  Way  to  Conquer  "  :  — 

"The  winds 

Moan  and  make  music  through  its  halls,  and  there 
The  mountain-loving  eagle  builds  his  home. 
But  all  's  a  waste  :  for  miles  and  miles  around 
There  's  not  a  cot." 

An  extract  from  a  poem  entitled  "  Flowers  "  has  the 
beauty  of  favorite  passages  in  "The  Winter's  Tale" 
and  "A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream,"  —  the  flavor  and 
picturesque  detail  of  Shakespeare's  blossomy  descrip 
tions  :  — 

"  There  the  rose  unveils 
Her  breast  of  beauty,  and  each  delicate  bud 
O'  the  season  comes  in  turn  to  bloom  and  perish. 
But  first  of  all  the  violet,  with  an  eye 
Blue  as  the  midnight  heavens,  the  frail  snowdrop, 
Born  of  the  breath  of  Winter,  and  on  his  brow 
Fixed  like  a  pale  and  solitary  star ; 
5* 


His  earfy 
writings, 
1819-21. 


io6 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


The  languid  hyacinth,  and  wild  primrose, 
And  daisy  trodden  down  like  modesty  ; 
The  foxglove,  in  whose  drooping  bells  the  be  ^ 
Makes  her  sweet  music  ;  the  narcissus  (named 
From  him  who  died  for  love) ;  the  tangled  woodbine, 
Lilacs,  and  flowering  limes,  and  scented  thorns, 
And  some  from  whom  voluptuous  winds  of  June 
Catch  their  perfumings." 

It  may  be  noted  that  Procter's  early  verse  had  an 
effect  upon  poets  who  have  since  obtained  distinction, 
and  who  improved  on  the  hints  afforded  them.  Two 
of  the  pieces  in  the  first  and  second  volumes,  "A. 
Vision  "  and  "  Portraits,"  contain  the  germs  of  Ten 
nyson's  "  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  and  of  his  best- 


known  classical   poem.      The    "  Lines   to 


and 


"  Lines  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend  "  bear  a  striking 
resemblance  in  metre,  rhythm,  and  technical  "effects," 
to  those  wild  and  musical  lyrics  written  long  after 
ward  by  Edgar  A.  Poe,  "The  Sleeper"  and  "The 
City  in  the  Sea."  In  several  of  his  metrical  tales, 
Procter,  no  less  than  Keats  and  Hunt,  went  to  that  \ 
Italian  source  which,  since  the  days  of  Chaucer,  has 
been  a  fountain-spring  of  romance  for  the  poet's  use. 
His  "  Sicilian  Story "  is  an  inferior  study  upon  the 
theme  of  Keats's  "  Isabella  "  j  and  some  of  his  other 
themes  from  Boccaccio  have  been  handled  by  later 
poets,  —  the  story  of  "  Love  Cured  by  Kindness,"  by 
Mrs.  Lewes,  and  that  of  "The  Falcon,"  by  our  own 
Longfellow.  Among  his  dramatic  sketches,  "The 
Way  to  Conquer,"  "The  Return  of  Mark  Antony," 
and  especially  "Julian  the  Apostate,"  have  admirable 
scenes ;  their  verse  displays  simplicity,  passion,  sen- 
suousness ;  one  derives  from  them  the  feeling  that 
their  author  might  have  been  a  vigorous  dramatic 
poet  in  a  more  suitable  era.  As  it  was,  he  stood  in 


MELODIOUS  LYRICS. 


the  front  rank  of  his  contemporaries,  not  onty.aS  one 
of  the  brilliant  writers  for  The  London  Magazine,  but 
respected  by  practical  judges  who  cater  for  the  public 
taste.  His  stage  tragedy,  Mirandola,  was  brought  out 
at  the  Covent  Garden  theatre,  apparently  with  suc 
cess.  Macready,  Charles  Kemble,  and  Miss  Foote 
figured  in  the  cast.  It  is  an  acting  drama,  with  a  plot 
resembling  that  of  Byron's  "  Parasina."  A  volume 
of  two  years'  later  date  exhibits  less  progress  in  con 
structive  power.  It  contained  "  The  Flood  of  Thes- 
saly,"  "  The  Girl  of  Provence,"  "  The  Letter  of  Boc 
caccio,"  "  The  Fall  of  Saturn,"  etc.,  —  poems  which 
show  greater  finish,  but  little  originality,  and  more 
of  the  influence  of  Hunt  and  Keats.  Throughout 
the  five  books  under  review,  the  blank-verse,  some 
times  effective,  as  in  "  Marcelia,"  is  often  jagged 
and  diffuse.  The  classical  studies  are  not  equal  to 
those  of  the  poet's  last-named  associate.  In  Procter's 
lyrical  verses,  however,  we  now  begin  to  see  the 
groundwork  of  his  later  eminence  as  a  writer  of  Eng 
lish  songs. 

Among  the  sweetest  of  these  melodies  was  "  Golden- 
tressed  Adelaide,"  a  ditty  warbled  for  the  gentle  child 
whose  after-career  was  to  be  a  dream-life  of  poesy 
and  saintliness,  ending  all  too  early,  and  bearing  to 
his  own  the  relation  of  a  song  within  a  song.  I  give 
the  opening  stanza  :  — 

"  Sing.  I  pray,  a  little  song, 

Mother  dear  ! 

Neither  sad,  nor  very  long : 
It  is  for  a  little  maid, 
Golden-tressed  Adelaide  ! 
Therefore  let  it  suit  a  merry,  merry  ear, 

Mother  dear  ! " 


"I/ 

"IWtra 


A  delaide 

Anne 

Procter. 


io8 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


The  poet  had  married,  it  is  seen,  and  other  chil 
dren  blessed  his  tranquil  home,  where  life  glided  away 
as  he  himself  desired,  gently  :  — 

"  As  we  sometimes  glide, 
Through  a  quiet  dream!" 

The  most  perfect  lyric  ever  addressed  by  a  poet 
to  his  wife  is  the  little  song,  known,  through  Neu- 
komm's  melody,  in  so  many  homes :  — 

"  How  many  summers,  love, 
Have  I  been  thine  ?  " 

The  final  stanza  is  exquisite  :  — 

"Ah! — with  what  thankless  heart 

I  mourn  and  sing  ! 
Look,  where  our  children  start, 

Like  sudden  Spring  ! 
With  tongues  all  sweet  and  low, 

Like  a  pleasant  rhyme, 
They  tell  how  much  I  owe 

To  thee  and  Time  !  " 

After  Procter's  marriage  his  muse  was  silent  for  a 
while ;  partly,  no  doubt,  from  a  growing  conviction 
that  no  mission  was  then  open  to  a  dramatic  poet ; 
partly,  from  the  necessity  for  close  professional  work, 
under  the  domestic  obligations  he  had  assumed. 
What  was  lost  to  art  was  gained  in  the  happiness  of 
the  artist's  home  ;  and  if  he  escaped  the  discipline 
of  learning  in  suffering  what  he  taught  in  song,  I, 
for  one,  do  not  regret  this  enviable  exception  to  a 
very  bitter  rule. 

The  Muse  cannot  be  wholly  banished,  even  by  the 
strong  felicity  of  wedded  love.  She  enters  again  and 
again,  and  will  not  be  denied.  Barry  Cornwall's  voice 


THE  DRAMATIC  AND  LYRICAL  FACULTIES. 


I09 


came  back  to  him,  after  a  moulting  period;  and 
although  he  wrote  no  plays,  he  exercised  it  in  that 
portion  of  dramatic  composition  which,  like  music  in 
every-day  life,  is  used  as  a  relief  and  beguilement,  — 
the  utterance  of  expressive  song. 

Dramatic  poetry,  embracing  in  completeness  every 
department  of  verse,  seems  to  reach  a  peculiar  excel 
lence  in  its  lyrical  interludes.  Procter  says  that  "  the 
songs  which  occur  in  dramas  are  generally  more  nat 
ural  than  those  which  proceed  from  the  author  in 
person,"  and  gives  some  reasons  therefor.  My  own 
belief  is  that  the  dramatic  and  lyrical  faculties  are 
correlative,  a  lyric  being  a  dramatic  and  musical  out 
burst  of  thought,  passion,  sorrow,  or  delight ;  and 
never  was  there  a  more  dramatic  song-writer  than  is 
Barry  Cornwall.  His  English  Songs  appeared  at  a 
time  when,  —  setting  aside  the  folk-minstrelsy  of  Scot 
land  and  Ireland,  —  the  production  of  genuine  lyrics 
for  music  was,  as  we  have  seen,  almost  a  lost  art. 
He  declared  of  it,  however,  "  The  spring  will  re 
turn  ! "  and  was  the  fulfiller  of  his  own  prediction. 
By  the  agreement  of  musicians  and  poets,  his  songs, 
whether  as  melodies  or  lyrics,  approach  perfection, 
and  thousands  of  sweet  voices  have  paid  tribute  to 
their  beauty,  unconscious  of  the  honeyed  lips  from 
which  it  sprung.  Mr.  Stoddard  —  than  whom  there 
is  no  higher  authority  with  respect  to  English  lyrical 
poetry  —  judges  Procter  to  be  its  "most  consummate 
master  of  modern  days " :  in  fact,  he  questions 
"  whether  all  the  early  English  poets  ever  produced 
so  many  and  such  beautiful  songs  as  Barry  Corn 
wall,"  and  says  that  "  a  selection  of  their  best  would 
be  found  inferior  as  a  whole  to  the  one  hundred  and 
seventy-two  little  songs  in  Mr.  Procter's  volume, — 


110 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


narrower  in  range,  less  abundant  in  measures,  and  in 
finitely  less  pure  as  expressions  of  love." 

There  are  many  who  would  demur  to  this  compar 
ative  estimate,  and  for  whom  the  starry  Elizabethan 
lyrics  still  shine  peerless,  yet  they  too  are  charmed 
by  the  spirit,  alternately  tender  and  blithesome,  of 
Procter's  songs ;  by  their  unconscious  grace,  change 
ful  as  the  artless  and  unexpected  attitudes  of  a  fair 
girl  j  by  their  absolute  musical  quality  and  compre 
hensive  range.  They  include  all  poetic  feelings,  from 
sweetest  melancholy  to  "  glad  animal  joy."  Some 
heartstring  answers  to  each,  for  each  is  the  fine  ex 
pression  of  an  emotion ;  nor  is  the  emotion  simulated 
for  the  song's  sake.  Now,  how  different  in  this  re 
spect  are  Barry  Cornwall's  melodies  from  the  still- 
life  lyrics,  addressing  themselves  to  the  eye,  of  many 
recent  poets !  How  assured  in  their  audible  loveli 
ness  !  Sometimes  fresh  with  the  sprayey  breeze  of 
ocean,  and  echoing  the  innumerous  laughter  of  waves 
that  tumble  round  the  singer's  isle :  — 

"The  sea!  the  sea!  the  open  sea! 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free ! 
Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 
It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round ; 
It  plays  with  the  clouds;  it  mocks  the  skies; 
Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 


"  I  never  was  on  the  dull,  tame  shore, 
But  I  loved  the  great  sea  more  and  more, 
And  backwards  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's  nest; 
And  a  mother  she  was  and  is  to  me; 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  sea ! " 

It  is  a  human  soul  that  wanders  with  "The   Stormy 


-ENGLISH  SONGS: 


in 


Petrel,"  dips  its  pinions  in  the  brine,  and  has  the  lib 
erty  of  Prospero's  tricksy  spirit,  "  be 't  to  fly,  to  swim, 
to  dive":  — 

"  A  thousand  miles  from  land  are  we, 
Tossing  about  on  the  roaring  sea; 
From  billow  to  bounding  billow  cast, 
Like  fleecy  snow  on  the  stormy  blast : 

Up  and  down !     Up  and  down ! 
From  the  base  of  the  wave  to  the  billow's  crown, 
And  amidst  the  flashing  and  feathery  foam 
The  Stormy  Petrel  finds  a  home ! " 

The  zest  and  movements  of  these  and  a  -few  kindred 
melodies  have  brought  them  into  special  favor.  Their 
virile,  barytone  quality  is  dominant  in  the  superb 
"  Hunting  Song,"  with  its  refrain  awakening  the  lusty 
morn :  — 

"  Now,  thorough  the  copse,  where  the  fox  is  found, 
And  over  the  stream,  at  a  mighty  bound, 
And  over  the  high  lands,  and  over  the  low, 
O'er  furrows,  o'er  meadows,  the  hunters  go ! 
Away  !  —  as  a  hawk  flies  full  at  its  prey, 
So  flieth  the  hunter,  away,  —  away  ! 
From  the  burst  at  the  cover  till  set  of  sun, 
When  the  red  fox  dies,  and  —  the  day  is  done ! 

Hark,  hark! —  What  sound  on  the  wind  is  borne? 

'7Ir  the  conquering  voice  of  the  hunter's  horn. 
The  horn,  —  the  horn  ! 

The  merry,  bold  -voice  of  the  hunter's  horn.'1'' 

Procter's  convivial  glees  are  the  choruses  of  robust 
and  gallant  banqueters,  and  would  stifle  in  the  throat 
of  a  sensual  debauchee.  The  Vine  Song,  — 

"  Sing  !  —  Who  sings 
To  her  who  weareth  a  hundred  rings  ?  "  — 


Fresh  and 

buoyant 

music. 


112 


BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


has  the  buoyancy  of  Wolfe's  favorite,  "  How  stands 
the  Glass  around  ? "  Among  the  rest,  "  Drink,  and 
fill  the  Night  with  Mirth  ! "  and  "  King  Death  "  are 
notable,  the  first  for  its  Anacreontic  lightness,  and 
the  last  for  a  touch  of  the  grim  revelry  which  so  fas 
cinates  us  in  "  Don  Giovanni,"  and  reflects  a  perfectly 
natural  though  grotesque  element  of  our  complex 
mould. 

In  one  of  the  many  editions  of  Barry  Cornwall's 
lyrical  poems  I  find  two  hundred  and  forty  songs,  of 
surprising  range  and  variety:  songs  of  the  chase,  the 
forest,  and  the  sea ;  lullabies,  nocturnes,  greetings,  and 
farewells ;  songs  of  mirth  and  sorrow ;  few  martial 
lays,  but  many  which  breathe  of  love  in  stanzas  that 
are  equally  fervent,  melodious,  and  pure.  Some  have 
a  rare  and  subtile  delicacy,  so  characteristic  of  this 
poet  as  at  once  to  mark  their  authorship.  Such  is 
the  melody,  commencing 

"  Sit  down,  sad  soul,  and  count 
The  moments  flying  "  ; 

such,  also,  "  A  Petition  to  Time  " ;  and  such  the  lyric, 
entitled  "  Life,"  the  beautiful  dirge,  "  Peace !  what  can 
Tears  avail?"  and  "The  Poet's  Song  to  his  Wife," 
—  already  quoted.  Another  class  of  songs,  to  which 
earlier  reference  has  been  made,  mostly  composed  in 
a  major  key,  may  fairly  be  compared  with  the  work  of 
other  poets.  Bayard  Taylor's  early  lyrics,  "  The  Mar 
iners  "  and  "  Wind  at  Sea,"  have  the  same  clear, 
healthy  ring,  and  his  "Bedouin  Song,"  in  fine  poetic 
quality,  is  not  excelled  by  any  similar  effort  of  the 
British  lyrist.  Again,  without  knowing  the  author, 
we  might  assume  that  Emerson  had  traced  the  royal 
lines  descriptive  of  "  The  Blood  Horse  "  :  — 


HIS  OLD  AGE. 


"Gamarra  is  a  dainty  steed, 
Strong,  black,  and  of  a  noble  breed, 
Full  of  fire,  and  full  of  bone, 
With  all  his  line  of  fathers  known ; 
Fine  his  nose,  his  nostrils  thin, 
But  blown  abroad  by  the  pride  within  ! 
His  mane  is  like  a  river  flowing, 
And  his  eyes  like  embers  glowing 
In  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
And  his  pace  as  swift  as  light." 

More  than  other  poets,  Barry  Cornwall  tempts  the 
writer  to  linger  on  the  path  of  criticism  and  make 
selection  of  the  jewels  scattered  here  and  there. 
Like  the  man  in  the  enchanted  cavern,  one  cannot 
refrain  from  picking  up  a  ruby  or  an  emerald,  though 
forbidden  by  the  compact  made.  The  later  chips 
from  Procter's  dramatic  workshop  are  superior  to  his 
early  blank-verse  in  wisdom,  strength,  and  beauty. 
It  is  a  pity,  that,  after  all,  they  are  but  "  Dramatic 
Fragments,"  and  not  passages  taken  from  complete 
and  heroic  plays.  Bryan  Waller  Procter,  restricted 
from  the  production  of  such  masterworks,  at  least  did 
what  he  could.  For  some  years  before  his  recent 
death  the  world  listened  in  vain  for  the  voice  of  this 
sweet  singer.  He  lingered  to  an  extreme  old  age : 
a  white-haired,  silent  minstrel,  into  whose  secluded 
mind  the  reproach  would  have  fallen  unheeded,  had  l874- 
the  rosy-cheeked  boys,  whom  Heine  pictures,  sprung 
around  him,  placed  the  shattered  harp  in  his  trembling 
hand,  and  said,  laughing,  "  Thou  indolent,  gray-headed 
old  man,  sing  us  again  songs  of  the  dreams  of  thy 
youth  ! " 


ii 


"  Dramatic 
Frag- 


B.  W.  P. 


CHAPTER     IV. 


A  spiritiial 
tempera 
ment. 


ELIZABETH   BARRETT   BROWNING. 

I. 

THERE  are  some  poets  whom  we  picture  to  our 
selves  as  surrounded  with  aureolas ;  who  are 
clothed  in  so  pure  an  atmosphere  that  when  we  speak 
of  them,  —  though  with  a  critical  purpose  and  in  this 
exacting  age,  —  our  language  must  express  that  tender 
fealty  which  sanctity  and  exaltation  compel  from  all 
mankind.  We  are  not  sure  of  our  judgment :  ordinary 
tests  fail  us  ;  the  pearl  is  a  pearl,  though  discolored  ; 
fire  is  fire,  though  shrouded  in  vapor,  or  tinged  with 
murky  hues.  We  do  not  see  clearly,  for  often  our 
eyes  are  blinded  with  tears ;  —  we  love,  we  cherish, 
we  revere. 

The  memory  and  career  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  Brown-  \ 
ing  appear  to  us  like  some  beautiful  ideal.  Nothing 
is  earthly,  though  all  is  human ;  a  spirit  is  passing 
before  our  eyes,  yet  of  like  passions  with  ourselves, 
and  encased  in  a  frame  so  delicate  that  every  fibre  is 
alive  with  feeling  and  tremulous  with  radiant  thought. 
Her  genius  certainly  may  be  compared  to  those  sensi 
tive,  palpitating  flames,  which  harmonically  rise  and 
fall  in  response  to  every  sound-vibration  near  them. 
Her  whole  being  was  rhythmic,  and,  in  a  time  when 
art  is  largely  valued  for  itself  alone,  her  utterances 
were  the  expression  of  her  inmost  soul. 


THE   CHIEF  OF   WOMAN-POETS. 


I  have  said  that  while  the  composite  period  has 
exhibited  many  phases  of  poetic  art,  it  is  not  difficult, 
with  respect  to  each  of  them  taken  singly,  to  find  some 
former  epoch  more  distinguished.  The  Elizabethan 
age  surpassed  it  in  dramatic  creation,  and  in  those 
madrigals  and  canzonets  which  —  to  transpose  Men 
delssohn's  fancy  —  are  music  without  harping ;  the 
Protectorate  developed  more  epic  grandeur,  —  the 
Georgian  era,  more  romantic  sentiment  and  strength 
of  wing.  Recent  progress  has  been  phenomenal, 
chiefly,  in  variety,  finish,  average  excellence  of  work. 
To  this  there  is  one  exception.  The  Victorian  era, 
with  its  wider  range  of  opportunities  for  women,  has 
been  illumined  by  the  career  of  the  greatest  female 
poet  that  England  has  produced,  —  nor  only  England, 
but  the  whole  territory  of  the  English  language ;  more 
than  this,  the  most  inspired  woman,  so  far  as  known, 
of  all  who  have  composed  in  ancient  or  modern 
tongues,  or  flourished  in  any  land  or  time. 

What  have  we  of  Sappho,  beyond  a  few  exquisite 
fragments,  a  disputed  story,  the  broken  strings  of  a 
remote  and  traditional  island-lyre  ?  Yet,  from  Sappho 
down,  including  the  poetry  of  Southern  and  Northern 
Europe  and  the  whole  melodious  greensward  of  Eng 
lish  song,  the  remains  of  what  woman  are  left  to  us, 
which  in  quantity  and  inspiration  compete  with  those 
of  Mrs.  Browning?  What  poet  of  her  own  sex,  ex 
cept  Sappho,  did  she  herself  find  worthy  a  place 
among  the  forty  immortals  grouped  in  the  hemicycle 
of  her  own  "  Vision  of  Poets  "  ?  Take  the  volume  of 
her  collected  writings,  —  with  so  much  that  we  might 
omit,  with  so  many  weaknesses  and  faults,  —  and  what 
riches  it  contains !  How  different,  too,  from  other 
recent  work,  thoroughly  her  own,  eminently  that  of  a 


Former  pe 
riods  more 
eminent  in 
special 
quality^ 


but  the  Vic 
torian  has 
produced 
the  greatest 
of  woman- 
poets. 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Her  years 
ofiinmar- 
ried  life. 


Elizabeth 
Barrett 
Barrett : 
born  at 
ffo/>e  End, 
near  Led- 
bury,  1809. 


"An  Essay 
on  Mind, 
with  Other 
Poems," 
1826. 


woman,  —  a  Christian  sibyl,  priestess  of   the  melody, 
heroism,  and  religion  of  the  modern  world ! 


II. 

WHAT  is  the  story  of  her  maidenhood?  Not  only 
of  those  early  years  which,  no  matter  how  long  we 
continue,  are  said  to  make  up  the  greater  portion  of 
our  life ;  but  also  of  an  unwedded  period  which 
lasted  to  that  ominous  year,  the  thirty-seventh,  which 
has  ended  the  song  of  other  poets  at  a  date  when 
her  own  —  so  far  as  the  world  heard  her  —  had  but 
just  begun.  How  grew  our  Psyche  in  her  chrysalid 
state  ?  For  she  was  like  the  insect  that  weaves  itself 
a  shroud,  yet  by  some  inward  force,  after  a  season,  is 
impelled  to  break  through  its  covering,  and  come  out 
a  winged  tiger-moth,  emblem  of  spirituality  in  its  birth, 
and  of  passion  in  the  splendor  of  its  tawny  dyes. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Barrett  was  born  of  wealthy  par 
ents,  in  1809,  and  began  her  literary  efforts  almost 
contemporaneously  with  Tennyson.  Apparently,  —  for 
the  world  has  not  yet  received  the  inner  history  of  a 
life,  which,  after  all,  was  so  purely  intellectual  that 
only  herself  could  have  revealed  it  to  us,  —  appar 
ently,  I  say,  she  was  the  idol  of  her  kindred;  and 
especially  of  a  father  who  wondered  at  her  genius 
and  encouraged  the  projects  of  her  eager  youth. 
Otherwise,  although  she  was  a  rhymer  at  the  age  of 
ten,  how  could  she  have  published,  in  her  seventeenth 
year,  her  didactic  Essay,  composed  in  heroics  after 
the  method  of  Pope  ?  Apparently,  too,  she  had  a 
mind  of  that  fine  northern  type  which  hungers  after 
learning  for  its  own  sake,  and  to  which  the  study  of 
books  or  nature  is  an  instinctive  and  insatiable  de- 


READING  AND   THE  IMAGINATION. 


II/ 


sire.  If  Mrs.  Browning  left  no  formal  record  of  her 
youth,  the  spirit  of  it  is  indicated  so  plainly  in  "  Au 
rora  Leigh,"  that  we  scarcely  need  the  letter :  — 

"  Books,  books,  books ! 
I  had  found  the  secret  of  a  garret-room 
Piled  high  with  cases  in  my  father's  name ; 


The  first  book  first.     And  how  I  felt  it  beat 
Under  my  pillow,  in  the  morning's  dark, 
An  hour  before  the  sun  would  let  me  read ! 
My  books ! 

At  last,  because  the  time  was  ripe, 
I  chanced  upon  the  poets." 

Doubtless  this  sleepless  child  was  one  to  whom  her 
actual  surroundings,  even  if  observed,  seemed  less 
real  than  the  sights  in  dreamland  and  cloudland  re 
vealed  to  her  by  simply  opening  the  magical  covers 
of  a  printed  book.  An  imaginative  girl  sometimes 
becomes  so  entranced  with  the  ideal  world  as  to 
quite  forego  the  biding  and  eeeing  which  attend  upon 
the  springtime  of  womanhood.  Such  natures  often 
awake  to  the  knowledge  that  they  have  missed  some 
thing:  love  was  everywhere  around  them,  but  their 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  stars,  and  they  perceived  it 
not.  This  abnormal  growth  is  perilous,  and  to  the 
feebler  class  of  dreamers,  who  have  poetic  sensibility 
without  true  constructive  power,  insures  blight,  lone 
liness,  premature  decay.  For  the  born  artist,  such 
experiences  in  youth  not  only  are  inevitable,  but  are 
the  training  which  shapes  them  for  their  after  work. 
The  fittest  survive  the  test 

Miss  Barrett's  early  feasts  were  of  an  omnivorous 
kind,  the  best  school-regimen  for  genius  :  — 


Influence  of 
reading  on 
the  imagi 
nation. 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


"I  read  books  bad  and  good  —  some  bad  and  good 
At  once :  . 

,      ,:,        ,    .    .        And  being  dashed 
From  error  on  to  error,  every  turn 
Still  brought  me  nearer  to  the  central  truth." 

A  gifted  mind  in  youth  has  an  unconsciousness  of 
evil,  and  an  affinity  for  the  beautiful  and  true,  which 
enable  it,  when  given  the  freedom  of  a  library,  to  as 
similate  what  is  suited  to  its  needs.  Fact  and  fiction 
are  inwardly  digested,  and  in  maturer  years  the  logi 
cal  faculty  involuntarily  assorts  and  distributes  them. 
Aurora  reads  her  books, 

"  Without  considering  whether  they  were  fit 
To  do  me  good.     Mark,  there.     We  get  no  good 
By  being  ungenerous,  even  to  a  book, 
And  calculating  profits  .  .  so  much  help 
By  so  much  reading.     It  is  rather  when 
We  gloriously  forget  ourselves  and  plunge 
Soul-forward,  headlong,  into  a  book's  profound, 
Impassioned  for  its  beauty  and  salt  of  truth  — 
'T  is  then  we  get  the  right  good  from  a  book." 

Much  of  this  reading  was  of  that  grave  character 
to  which  court-maidens  of  Roger  Ascham's  time  were 
wonted,  for  her  juvenile  "  Essay  on  Mind  "  evinced  a 
knowledge  of  Plato,  Bacon,  and  others  of  the  world's 
great  thinkers  :  I  do  not  say  familiarity  with  them  ; 
scholars  know  what  that  word  means,  and  how  loosely 
such  terms  are  bandied.  She  gained  that  general 
conception  of  each,  similar  to  what  we  learn  of  a 
man  upon  first  acquaintance,  and  often  not  far  wrong. 

With  time  and  occasion  afterward  came  the  more 
disciplinary  process  of  her  education.  Fortunate  in 
fluences,  possibly  those  of  her  father,  —  if  we  may  still 
follow  "  Aurora  Leigh,"  —  guided  her  in  the  direction 


HUGH  STUART  BO  YD. 


of  studies  as  refining  as  they  were  severe.  She  read 
Latin  and  Greek.  /  Now,  it  is  noteworthy  that  a  girl's 
intellect  is  more  adroit  in  acquirement,  not  only  of 
the  languages,  but  of  pure  mathematics,  than  that  of 
the  average  boy.)  Any  one  trained  at  the  desks  of  a 
New  England  high-school  is  aware  of  this.  In  later 
years  the  woman  very  likely  will  stop  acquiring,  while 
the  man  still  plods  along  and  grows  in  breadth  and 
accuracy.  Miss  Barrett  became  a  loving  student  of 
Greek,  and  we  shall  see  that  it  greatly  influenced  her 
literary  progress. 

Among  her  maturer  friends  was  the  sweetly  gentle 
and  learned  Hugh  Stuart  Boyd,  to  whom  in  his  blind 
ness  she  read  the  Attic  dramatists,  and  under  whose 
guidance  she  explored  a  remarkably  wide  field  of 
Grecian  philosophy  and  song.  What  more  beautiful 
subject  for  a  modern  painter  than  the  girl  Elizabeth, 
—  "  that  slight,  delicate  figure,  with  a  shower  of  dark 
curls  falling  on  each  side  of  a  most  expressive  face, 
large  tender  eyes  richly  fringed  by  dark  eyelashes, 
and  a  smile  like  a  sunbeam,"  —  than  this  ethereal 
creature  seated  at  the  feet  of  the  blind  old  scholar, 
her  face  aglow  with  the  rhapsody  of  the  sonorous 
drama,  from  which  she  read  of  CEdipus,  until 

"the  reader's  voice  dropped  lower 
When  the  poet  called  him  BLIND  !  " 

Here  was  the  daughter  that  Milton  should  have 
had  !  An  oft-quoted  stanza  from  her  own  "  Wine  of 
Cyprus,"  addressed  to  her  master  in  after  years,  may 
be  taken  for  the  legend  of  the  picture  :  — 

"  And  I  think  of  those  long  mornings, 

Which  my  Thought  goes  far  to  seek, 
When,  betwixt  the  folio's  turnings, 
Solemn  flowed  the  rhythmic  Greek. 


Hugh 
Stitart 
Boyd. 
1782-1848. 


Her  portrait 
in  Miss  Mit- 
forcTs  "Rec 
ollections  of 
a  Literary 
Life." 


120 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Beneficent 
effect  of 
culture. 


Past  the  pane  the  mountain  spreading, 
Swept  the  sheep-bell's  tinkling  noise, 

While  a  girlish  voice  was  reading, 
Somewhat  low  for  afs  and  ofs." 

Aside  from  repeated  indications  in  her  other  writing, 
this  graceful  poem  shows  the  liberal  extent  of  her 
delightful  classical  explorations.  Homer,  Pindar,  An- 
acreon,  —  "  ^Eschylus,  the  thunderous,"  "  Sophocles, 
the  royal,"  "  Euripides,  the  human,"  "  Plato,  the  divine 
one,"  —  Theocritus,  Bion,  —  not  only  among  the  im 
mortal  pagans  did  Miss  Barrett  follow  hand  in  hand 
with  Boyd,  but  attended  him  upon  his  favorite  excur 
sions  to  those  "  noble  Christian  bishops  "  —  Chrysos- 
tom,  Basil,  Nazianzen  —  "  who  mouthed  grandly  the 
last  Greek." 

What  other  woman  and  poet  of  recent  times  has 
passed  through  such  a  novitiate,  in  the  academic 
groves  and  at  the  fountain-heads  of  poetry  and 
thought  ?  I  dwell  upon  Miss  Barrett's  culture,  because 
I  am  convinced  that  it  had  much  to  do  with  her  pre 
eminence  among  female  poets.  Many  a  past  genera 
tion  has  produced  its  songsters  of  her  sex,  whose 
voices  were  stifled  for  want  of  atmosphere  and  train 
ing.  An  auspicious  era  gave  her  an  advantage  over 
predecessors  like  Joanna  Baillie,  and  her  culture  placed 
her  immeasurably  above  Miss  Landon,  Mrs.  Hemans, 
and  others  who  flourished  at  the  outset  of  her  own 
career.  Lady  Barnard,  the  Baroness  Nairn,  Mrs. 
Norton,  —  women  like  these  have  written  beautiful 
lyrics  \  but  here  is  one,  equally  feminine,  yet  with 
strength  beyond  them  all,  lifting  herself  to  the  height 
of  sustained  imagination.  George  Sand,  Charlotte 
Bronte,  and  Mrs.  Lewes  have  been  her  only  com 
peers,  but  of  these  the  first  —  at  least  in  form,  and 


A   LIBERAL  SCHOLAR. 


121 


the  two  latter  both  in  form  and  by  instinct,  have 
been  writers  of  prose,  before  whom  the  poet  takes 
precedence,  by  inherited  and  defensible  prerogative. 

It  was  a  piece  of  good  fortune  that  Miss  Barrett's 
technical  study  of  roots,  inflections,  and  what  not  was 
elementary  and  incidental.  She  and  her  companion 
read  Greek  for  the  music  and  wisdom  of  a  literature 
which,  as  nations  ripen  and  grow  old,  still  holds  its 
own,  —  an  exponent  of  pure  beauty  and  the  universal 
mind.  The  result  would  furnish  a  potential  example 
for  those  who  hold,  with  Professor  Tayler  Lewis,  that 
the  classical  tongues  should  be  studied  chiefly  for  the 
sake  of  their  literature.  She  was  not  a  scholar,  in 
the  grammarian's  sense ;  but  broke  the  shell  of  a 
language  for  the  meat  which  it  contained.  Hence 
her  reading  was  so  varied  as  to  make  her  the  most 
powerful  ally  of  the  classicists  among  popular  au 
thors.  Her  poetical  instinct  for  meanings  was  equal 
to  Shelley's ;  —  as  for  Keats,  he  created  a  Greece  and 
an  Olympus  of  his  own. 

Her  first  venture  of  significance  was  in  the  field 
of  translation.  Prometheus  Bound,  and  Miscellaneous 
Poems,  was  published  in  her  twenty-fourth  year.  The 
poems  were  equally  noticeable  for  faults  and  excel 
lences,  of  which  we  have  yet  to  speak.  The  transla 
tion  was  at  that  time  a  unique  effort  for  a  young  lady, 
and  good  practice  •  but  abounded  in  grotesque  pecul 
iarities,  and  in  fidelity  did  not  approach  the  modern 
standard.  In  riper  years  she  freed  it  from  her  early 
mannerism,  and  recast  it  in  the  shape  now  left  to  us, 
"  in  expiation,"  she  said,  "  of  a  sin  of  my  youth,  with 
the  sincerest  application  of  my  mature  mind."  This 
later  version  of  a  most  sublime  tragedy  is  more  poet 
ical  than  any  other  of  equal  correctness,  and  has  the 
6 


Her  scholar 
ship  liberal, 
but  not  pe 
dantic. 


"Prome 
theus  Bound, 
and  Miscel 
laneous 
Poems," 
1833- 


122 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Her  classi 
cism  distinct 
from  Lan 
der's. 


fire  and  vigor  of  a  master-hand.  No  one  has  suc 
ceeded  better  than  its  author  in  capturing  with  rhymed 
measures  the  wilful  rushing  melody  of  the  tragic 
chorus.  Her  other  translations  were  executed  for  her 
own  pleasure,  and  it  rarely  was  her  pleasure  to  be 
exactly  faithful  to  her  text.  She  was  honest  enough 
to  call  them  what  they  are ;  and  we  must  own  that 
her  "  Paraphrases  on "  Theocritus,  Homer,  Apuleius, 
etc.,  are  enjoyable  poems  in  themselves,  preserving 
the  spirit  of  their  originals,  yet  graceful  with  that 
freedom  of  which  Shelley's  "  Hymn  to  Mercury "  is 
the  most  winsome  English  exemplar  since  Chapman's 
time. 

Our  poet  was  always  healthful  and  at  ease  wher 
ever  her  classicism  blossomed  on  the  sprays  of  her 
own  song.  "  The  Dead  Pan  "  is  an  instance  of  her 
peculiar  utilization  of  Greek  tradition,  and  in  other 
pieces  her  antique  touches  are  frequent.  Late  in  life, 
when  unquestionably  failing,  —  her  eyes  growing  dim 
and  her  poetic  force  abated,  —  amid  a  peal  of  verses, 
that  sound  to  me  like  sweet  bells  jangled,  there  is  no 
clearer  strain  than  that  of  "  A  Musical  Instrument." 
For  a  moment,  indeed,  as  she  sang  a  melody  of  the 
pastoral  god,  her 

"  sun  on  the  hill  forgot  to  die, 
And  the  lilies  revived,  and  the  dragon-fly 
Came  back  to  dream  on  the  river." 

A  distinction  between  Landor's  workmanship  and 
that  of  Mrs.  Browning  was,  that  the  former  rarely 
used  his  classicism  allegorically  as  a  vehicle  for  mod 
ern  sentiment ;  the  latter,  who  did  not  write  and  think 
as  a  Greek,  goes  to  the  antique  for  illustration  of  her 
own  faith  and  conceptions. 


ILLNESS  AND  SECLUSION. 


123 


Of  Miss  Barrett's  life  we  now  catch  glimpses  through 
the  kindly  eyes  of  Miss  Mitford,  who  became  her  near 
friend  in  1836.  She  had  entered  upon  a  less  se 
cluded  period,  and  probably  the  four  years  which  fol 
lowed  the  appearance  of  her  "  Prometheus  "  were  as 
happy  as  any  of  her  maidenhood.  But,  always  fragile, 
in  1837  she  broke  a  blood-vessel  of  the  lungs;  and 
after  a  lingering  convalescence  was  again  prostrated 
in  1839  by  the  death  of  her  favorite  brother, — 
drowned  in  her  sight  off  the  bar  of  Torquay.  Months 
elapsed  before  she  could  be  removed  to  her  father's 
house,  there  to  enter  upon  that  absolute  cloister-life 
which  continued  for  nearly  seven  years.  It  was  the 
life  of  a  couch-ridden  invalid,  restricted  to  a  large  but 
darkened  chamber,  and  forbidden  all  society  but  that 
of  a  few  dear  friends.  I  think  of  her,  however,  in 
that  classic  room  as  of  one  shut  up  in  some  belve 
dere,  where,  by  means  of  a  camera,  the  outer  world  is 
reflected  upon  the  table  at  your  breast.  For  she  re 
turned  to  her  books  as  a  diversion  from  her  thoughts, 
and  with  an  eagerness  that  her  physicians  could  not 
restrict.  Miss  Mitford  says  that  she  was  now  "  read 
ing  almost  every  book  worth  reading  in  almost  every 
language,  and  giving  herself,  heart  and  soul,  to  that 
poetry  of  which  she  seemed  bora  to  be  the  priestess." 
The  creative  faculty  reasserted  itself;  the  moon  will 
draw  the  sea  despite  the  storms  and  darkness  that 
brood  between. 

In  1838  she  published  The  Seraphim  and  other 
Poems ;  in  another  year,  The  Romaunt  of  the  Page,  a 
volume  of  ballads  entitled  from  the  one  which  bears 
that  name.  In  1842  she  contributed  to  the  London 
Athen&um  some  Essays  on  the  Greek-Christian  and 
English  Poets,  —  the  only  specimens  of  her  prose  left 


Prolonged 
illness  and 
seclusion. 


"  The  Sera 
phim" 
1838. 

"  The  Ro 
maunt  of 
the  Page" 
1839. 


124 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Critical 
prose-writ 
ings,  1842. 


First  collec 
tive  edition 
ofkerpoems, 
1844. 


Her  early 
style. 


Disadvan 
tages  of  over- 
culture. 


Shelley. 


Her  ballads. 


to  us,  —  enthusiastic,  not  closely  written,  but  showing 
unusual  attainments  and  critical  perception.  In  1844 
—  her  thirty-fifth  year  —  she  found  strength  for  the 
collection  of  her  writings  in  their  first  complete 
edition,  which  opened  with  "A  Drama  of  Exile." 
These  volumes,  comprising  the  bulk  of  her  works 
during  her  maiden  period,  furnish  the  material  and 
occasion  for  some  remarks  upon  her  characteristics 
as  an  English  poet. 

Her  style,  from  the  beginning,  was  strikingly  origi 
nal,  uneven  to  an  extreme  degree,  equally  remarkable 
for  defects  and  beauties,  of  which  the  former  gradually 
lessened  and  the  latter  grew  more  admirable  as  she 
advanced  in  years  and  experience.  The  disadvan 
tages,  no  less  than  the  advantages,  of  her  education, 
were  apparent  at  the  outset.  She  could  not  fail  to 
be  affected  by  various  master-minds,  and  when  she 
had  outgrown  one  influence  was  drawn  within  another, 
and  so  tossed  about  from  world  to  world.  "  The 
Seraphim,"  a  diffuse,  mystical  passion-play,  was  an 
echo  of  the  ^Eschylean  drama.  Its  meaning  was 
scarcely  clear  even  to  the  author  j  the  rhythm  is  wild 
and  discordant ;  neither  music  nor  meaning  is  thor 
oughly  beaten  out.  I  have  mentioned  Shelley  as  one 
with  whom  she  was  akin,  —  is  it  that  Shelley,  dithy- 
rambic  as  a  votary  of  Cybele,  was  the  most  sexless, 
as  he  was  the  most  spiritual,  of  poets?  There  are 
singers  who  spurn  the  earth,  yet  scarcely  rise  to  the 
heavens ;  they  utter  a  melodious,  errant  strain  that 
loses  itself  in  a  murmur,  we  know  not  how.  Miss 
Barrett's  early  verse  was  strangely  combined  of  this 
semi-musical  delirium  and  obscurity,  with  an  attempt 
at  the  Greek  dramatic  form.  Her  ballads,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  a  reflection  of  her  English  studies ; 


EARLY  WORKS  AND  STYLE. 


125 


and,  as  being  more  English  and  human,  were  a  vast 
poetic  advance  upon  "The  Seraphim."  Evidently,  in 
these  varied  experiments,  she  was  conscious  of  power, 
and  strove  to  exercise  it,  yet  with  no  direct  purpose, 
and  half  doubtful  of  her  themes.  When,  therefore, 
as  in  certain  of  these  lyrics,  she  got  hold  of  a  rare 
story  or  suggestion,  she  made  an  artistic  poem;  all 
are  stamped  with  her  sign-manual,  and  one  or  two 
are  as  lovely  as  anything  on  which  her  fame  will  rest. 

My  own  youthful  acquaintance  with  her  works  be 
gan,  for  example,  with  the  "  Rhyme  of  the  Duchess 
May."  It  was  different  from  any  romance-ballad  I 
had  read,  and  was  to  me  a  magic  casement  opening 
on  "  faerylands  forlorn  "  ;  and  even  now  I  think,  as 
I  thought  then,  that  the  sweetness  and  power  of  scen 
ery  and  language,  the  delicious  metre,  the  refrain  of 
the  passing  bell,  the  feeling  and  action,  are  highly 
poetical  and  have  an  indescribable  charm.  The  blem 
ishes  of  this  lyric  are  few:  it  is  nicely  adjusted  to  the 
proper  degree  of  quaintness  ;  the  overture  and  epi 
logue  are  exquisitely  done,  and  the  tone  is  maintained 
throughout,  —  an  unusual  feat  for  Mrs.  Browning.  I 
have  never  forgotten  a  pleasure  which  so  contrasted 
with  the  barren  sentiment  of  a  plain  New  England 
life,  and  here  fulfil  my  obligation  to  lay  a  flower  of 
gratitude  upon  her  grave.  Yes,  indeed :  all  she 
needed  was  a  theme  to  evoke  her  rich  imaginings, 
and  I  wish  she  had  more  frequently  ceased  from  in 
trospection  and  composed  other  ballads  like  that  of 
the  "  Duchess  May." 

Of  her  minor  lyrics  during  this  period,  — "  IsobePs 
Child,"  "  The  Romaunt  of  the  Page,"  "  The  Lay  of 
the  Brown  Rosary,"  "The  Poet's  Vow,"  etc.,  — few 
are  so  good  as  the  example  just  cited ;  but  each  is 


"Rhyme  of 
the  Duchess 
May." 


Minor 
lyrics. 


126 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Her  dictio 


Lack  of 
taste. 

Nobility  of 
feeling. 


Grossly  de 
fective  art. 


quite  removed  from  commonplace,  and,  with  its  con 
trasts  of  strength  and  weakness,  entirely  characteristic 
of  its  author. 

The  effect  of  Miss  Barrett's  secluded  life  was  visible 
in  her  diction,  which  was  acquired  from  books  rather 
than  by  intercourse  with  the  living  world  ;  and  from 
books  of  all  periods,  so  that  she  seemed  unconscious 
that  certain  words  were  obsolete,  or  repellent  even  to 
cultured  and  tasteful  people.  Reviewers  who  accused 
her  of  affectation  were  partly  correct ;  yet  many  un 
couth  phrases  and  forgotten  words  seemed  to  her  no 
less  available  than  common  forms  obtained  from  the 
same  sources.  By  this  she  gained  a  richer  structure ; 
just  as  Kossuth,  learning  our  language  from  books, 
had  a  more  copious  vocabulary  than  many  English 
orators.  But  she  lost  credit  for  good  sense,  and  cer 
tainly  at  one  time  had  no  sure  judgment  in  the  use 
of  terms.  Since  she  explored  the  French,  Spanish, 
and  Italian  classics  as  eagerly  as  those  of  her  own 
tongue,  perhaps  the  wonder  is  that  her  diction  was 
not  even  more  fantastical.  Her  taste  never  seemed 
quite  developed,  but  through  life  subordinate  to  her 
excess  of  feeling.  So  noble,  however,  was  the  latter 
quality,  that  the  critics  gave  her  poetry  their  attention, 
and  endeavored  to  correct  its  faults  of  style.  For  a 
time  she  showed  a  lack  of  the  genuine  artist's  rever 
ence,  and  not  without  egotism  followed  her  wilful 
way.  The  difficulty  with  her  obsolete  words  was  that 
they  were  introduced  unnaturally,  and  produced  a 
grotesque  effect  instead  of  an  attractive  quaintness. 
Moreover,  her  slovenly  elisions,  indiscriminate  mixture 
of  old  and  new  verbal  inflections,  eccentric  rhymes, 
forced  accents,  wearisome  repetition  of  favored  words 
to  a  degree  that  almost  implied  poverty  of  thought, — 


SERIOUS  DEFECTS  AS  AN  ARTIST. 


127 


such  matters  justly  were  held  to  be  an  outrage  upon 
the  beauty  and  dignity  of  metrical  art.  An  occa 
sional  discord  has  its  use  and  charm,  but  harshness 
in  her  verse  was  the  rule  rather  than  the  exception 
When  she  had  a  felicitous  refrain  —  a  peculiar  grace 
of  her  lyrics  —  she  frequently  would  mar  the  effect 
and  give  a  shock  to  her  readers  by  the  introduction 
of  some  whimsical  or  repulsive  image.  Her  passion 
was  spasmodic  ;  her  sensuousness  lacked  substance  • 
as  for  simplicity,  it  was  at  one  time  questionable 
whether  she  was  not  to  be  classed  among  those  who, 
with  a  turbulent  desire  for  utterance,  really  have 
nothing  definite  to  say.  Her  sonnet  on  "  The  Soul's 
Expression "  showed  that  the  only  thing  clear  to  her 
mind  was  that  she  could  state  nothing  clearly :  — 

"  With  stammering  lips  and  insufficient  sound 
I  strive  and  struggle  to  deliver  right 
That  music  of  my  nature,  day  and  night 
With  dream  and  thought  and  feeling  interwound." 

Metaphysical  reading  aggravated  her  natural  vague 
ness  and  what  is  termed  transcendentalism,  —  perilous 
qualities  in  the  domain  of  art.  Long  afterward  she 
herself  spoke  of  "  the  weakness  of  these  earlier  verses, 
which  no  subsequent  revision  has  succeeded  in 
strengthening." 

In  "  A  Drama  of  Exile,"  where  she  had  a  more 
definite  object,  these  faults  are  less  apparent,  and 
her  genius  shines  through  the  clouds ;  so  that  we 
catch  glimpses  of  the  brightness  which  eventually 
lighted  her  to  a  station  in  the  Valhalla  of  renown. 

During  her  years  of  illness  she  had  added  some 
knowledge  of  Hebrew  to  her  acquirements,  and  could 
read  the  Old  Testament  in  the  original.  The  grander 


A  Dra*na 
of  Exile^ 
844. 


128 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Fervent  im 
agination. 


elements  of  her  imagination  received  a  new  stimulus 
from  the  sacred  text,  with  which,  after  all,  her  mind 
was  more  in  sympathy  than  with  the  serene  beauty 
of  the  Greek.  In  the  "  Drama  of  Exile  "  she  aimed 
at  the  highest,  and  failed  ;  but  such  failures  are  im 
possible  to  smaller  poets.  It  contains  wonderfully 
fine  passages ;  is  a  chaotic  mass,  from  which  dazzling 
lustres  break  out  so  frequently  that  a  critic  aptly 
spoke  of  the  "  flashes  "  of  her  "  wild  and  magnificent 
genius,"  the  "  number  and  close  propinquity  of  which 
render  her  book  one  flame."  My  review  presupposes 
the  reader's  familiarity  with  her  writings,  so  that  cita 
tion  of  passages  does  not  fall  within  its  intention. 
Yet,  let  me  ask  what  other  female  poet  has  risen  to 
such  language  as  this  of  Adam  to  Lucifer? 

"The  prodigy 

Of  thy  vast  brows  and  melancholy  eyes 
Which  comprehend  the  heights  of  some  great  fall. 
I  think  that  thou  hast  one  day  worn  a  crown 
Under  the  eyes  of  God." 

And  where  in  modern  verse  is  there  a  more  vigorous 
and  imaginative  episode  than  Lucifer's  remembrance 
of  the  couched  lion,  "  when  the  ended  curse  left  silence 
in  the  world"? 

"Right  suddenly 

He  sprang  up  rampant  and  stood  straight  and  stiff, 
As  if  the  new  reality  of  death 

Were  dashed  against  his  eyes,  —  and  roared  so  fierce 
(Such  thick  carnivorous  passion  in  his  throat 
Tearing  a  passage  through  the  wrath  and  fear) 
And  roared  so  wild,  and  smote  from  all  the  hills 
Such  fast,  keen  echoes  crumbling  down  the  vales 
Precipitately,  —  that  the  forest  beasts, 
One  after  one,  did  mutter  a  response 
Of  savage  and  of  sorrowful  complaint 


LYRICAL  EFFORTS. 


Which  trailed  along  the  gorges.     Then,  at  once, 
He  fell  back,  and  rolled  crashing  from  the  height 
Into  the  dusk  of  pines." 

Miss  Barrett  in  this  drama  displayed  a  true  concep 
tion  of  the  sublime  ;  though  as  yet  she  had  neither 
grace,  logic,  nor  sustained  power.  The  most  fragile 
and  delicate  of  beings,  she  essayed,  with  more  than 
man's  audacity,  to  reach  the  infinite  and  soar  to  "  the 
gates  of  light." 

That  she  was  a  tender  woman,  also,  and  that  her 
hand  had  been  somewhat  trained  by  varied  lyrical 
efforts,  was  manifest  from  some  of  those  minor  pieces 
through  which  she  now  began  to  attract  the  popular 
regard.  Among  those  not  previously  mentioned,  the 
tributes  to  Mrs.  Hemans  and  Miss  Landon,  "  Cata- 
rina  to  Camoens,"  "  Crowned  and  Wedded,"  "  Cow- 
per's  Grave,"  "  The  Sea-Mew,"  "  To  Flush,  my  Dog," 
and  "  The  Swan's  Nest,"  were  more  simple  and  open 
to  general  esteem  than  their  companion  pieces.  "  An 
Island,"  "The  Lost  Bower,"  and  "The  House  of 
Clouds  "  are  pure  efforts  of  fancy,  for  the  most  part 
charmingly  executed.  "  Bertha  in  the  Lane  "  is  treas 
ured  by  the  poet's  admirers  for  its  virginal  pathos,  — 
the  sacred  revelation  of  a  dying  maiden's  heart,  —  an 
exquisite  poem,  but  greatly  marred  in  the  closing.  It 
was  difficult  for  the  author,  however  fine  her  begin 
nings,  to  end  a  poem,  once  begun,  or  to  end  it  well 
under  final  compulsion.  "  The  Cry  of  the  Human," 
with  its  impassioned  refrain  and  almost  agonized  plea 
that  the  ancient  curse  may  be  lightened,  evinced  her 
recognition  of  the  sorrows  and  mysteries  of  existence : 
—  all  these  things  she  "  kept  in  her  heart,"  and  ut 
tered  brave  invectives  against  black  or  white  slavery, 
and  other  social  wrongs.  "  The  Cry  of  the  Children," 
6*  i 


130 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


uneven  as  it  is,  takes  its  place  beside  Hood's  "  Song 
of  the  Shirt,"  for  sweet  pity  and  frowning  indignation. 
In  behalf  of  the  little  factory-slaves,  after  reading 
Home's  report  of  his  Commission,  her  soul  took  fire 
and  she  did  what  she  could.  If  the  British  mill- 
owners  were  little  likely  to  be  impressed  by  her  imagi 
native  ode,  with  its  Greek  motto,  it  certainly  affected 
the  minds  of  public  writers  and  speakers,  who  could 
fashion  their  more  practical  agitation  after  the  pat 
tern  thus  given  them  in  the  Mount. 

But  "  Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship  "  was  the  ballad 
—  and  often  a  poet  has  one  such  —  which  gained 
her  a  sudden  repute  among  lay-readers.  It  is  said 
that  she  composed  it  in  twelve  hours,  and  not  im 
probably  ;  for,  although  full  of  melodious  sentiment 
and  dainty  lines,  the  poem  is  marred  by  common 
places  of  frequent  occurrence.  Many  have  classed  it 
with  "  Locksley  Hall,"  but,  while  certain  stanzas  are 
equal  to  Tennyson's  best,  it  is  far  from  displaying 
the  completeness  of  that  enduring  lyric.  I  value  it 
chiefly  as  an  illustration  of  the  greater  freedom  and 
elegance  to  which  her  poetic  faculty  had  now  at 
tained,  and  as  her  first  open  avowal,  and  a  brave 
one  in  England,  of  the  democracy  which  generous 
and  gifted  spirits,  the  round  world  over,  are  wont  to 
confess.  As  for  her  story,  she  only  succeeded  in 
showing  how  meanly  a  womanish  fellow  might  act, 
when  enamored  of  one  above  him  in  social  station, 
and  that  the  heart  of  a  man  possessed  of  healthy 
self-respect  was  something  she  had  not  yet  found  out. 
Her  Bertram  is  a  dreadful  prig,  who  cries,  mouths, 
and  faints  like  a  school-girl,  allowing  himself  to  eat 
the  bread  of  the  Philistines  and  betray  his  sense  of 
inequality,  and  upon  whom  Lady  Geraldine  certainly 


A   MATURE    WOMAN. 


throws  herself  away.  He  is  a  libel  upon  the  whole 
race  of  poets.  The  romance,  none  the  less,  met  with 
instant  popularity  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  and 
has  passed  into  literature,  somewhat  pruned  by  later 
touches,  as  one  of  its  author's  more  conspicuous 
efforts. 

Miss  Barrett  now,  at  the  relatively  mature  age  of 
thirty-five,  appeared  to  have  completed  her  intellect 
ual  growth.  It  was  a  chance  whether  her  future 
should  be  greater  than  her  past.  Thus  far  I  regard 
her  experience  as  merely  formative.  Much  of  her 
vagueness  and  gloom  had  departed  with  the  physical 
prostration  that  so  long  had  borne  her  down.  For  her 
improving  health  showed  that  study  and  authorship, 
though  against  the  wishes  of  her  attendants,  were  the 
best  medicine  for  a  body  and  mind  diseased. 

As  the  scent  of  the  rose  came  back  "  above  the 
mould,"  she  was  to  emerge  upon  a  new  life,  different 
from  that  which  we  hitherto  have  considered  as  the 
day  is  from  the  night.  She  was  not  to  be  enrolled 
among  the  mournful  sisterhood  of  women,  who 

"sit  still 

On  winter  nights  by  solitary  fires 
And  hear  the  nations  praising  them  far  off." 

The  dearest  common  joys  were  yet  to  be  hers,  and 
that  full  development  which  a  woman's  genius  needs 
to  make  it  rounded  and  complete.  There  is  a  pretty 
story  of  her  first  meeting  with  the  poet  Browning, 
based  upon  the  lines  referring  to  him  in  "  Lady  Ger- 
aldine's  Courtship."  This,  however,  is  not  credited 
by  Theodore  Tilton,  her  American  editor,  who  wrote 
the  Memorial  prefixed  to  the  collection  of  her  "Last 
Poems."  Four  lyrics,  thrown  off  at  this  time,  —  en- 


132 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Influence  of 
love  upon  a 
•woman's 
genius. 


titled  "Life  and  Love,"  "A  Denial,"  "Proof  and 
Disproof,"  and  "Inclusions,"  —  go  far  to  show  Miss 
Barrett's  humility,  and  inability  to  comprehend  the 
happiness  which  had  come  to  her.  But,  nevertheless, 
the  poet  wooed  and  won  her;  and  in  1846,  her 
thirty-seventh  year,  she  was  taken  from  her  couch  to 
the  altar,  and  at  once  borne  away  by  her  husband 
from  her  native  land.  Some  facts  in  my  possession 
with  respect  to  this  event  have  too  slight  a  bearing 
upon  the  record  of  her  literary  achievements  to  war 
rant  their  insertion  here.  It  is  well  known  that  the 
marriage  was  opposed  by  her  father,  but  she  builded 
better  than  he  knew.  Her  cloister-life  of  maiden 
hood  in  England  was  at  an  end.  Fifteen  happy  and 
illustrious  years  in  Italy  lay  before  her ;  and  in  her 
case  the  proverb  Cesium t  non  animum,  was  unful 
filled.  Never  was  there  a  more  complete  transmuta 
tion  of  the  habits  and  sympathies  of  life  than  that 
which  she  experienced  beneath  the  blue  Italian  skies. 
Still,  before  all  and  above  all,  her  refined  soul  re 
mained  in  allegiance  to  the  eternal  Muse. 


III. 

HE  is  but  a  shallow  critic  who  neglects  to  take 
into  his  account  of  a  woman's  genius  a  factor  repre 
senting  the  master-element  of  Love.  The  chief  event 
in  the  life  of  Elizabeth  Barrett  was  her  marriage,  and 
causes  readily  suggest  themselves  which  might  deter 
mine  the  most  generous  parent  to  oppose  such  a  step 
on  her  part.  The  dedication  of  her  edition  of  1844 
shows  how  close  was  the  relation  existing  between 
her  father  and  herself,  and  I  am  told  by  one  who 
knew  her  for  many  years,  that  Mr.  Barrett  "  was  a 


EFFECT  OF  LOVE   UPON  HER  GENIUS. 


133 


man  of  intellect  and  culture,  and  she  had  been  his 
pride,  as  well  as  the  light  of  his  eyes,  after  he  be 
came  a  widower."  To  such  a  parent,  now  well  in 
the  vale  of  years,  a  marriage  which  was  to  lift  his 
fragile  daughter  from  the  couch  to  which  she  had 
been  bound  as  a  picture  to  its  frame  must  have 
seemed  a  rash  experiment,  and  a  cruel  blow  to  him 
self,  however  eminent  and  devoted  the  suitor  who 
had  claimed  her.  But  when  the  long-closed  tide-ways 
of  a  woman's  heart  are  opened,  the  torrent  comes 
with  double  force  at  last,  sweeping  kith  and  kin 
away  by  Nature's  inexorable  law.  If  the  old  West 
India  merchant  had  not  afterwards  acted  with  utter 
selfishness  in  respect  to  the  marriage  of  another 
daughter,  I  should  be  disposed  to  estimate  his  wounded 
love  for  Elizabeth,  as  she  herself  did,  by  his  stead 
fast  refusal,  despite  her  "frequent  and  heart-moving" 
appeals,  to  be  reconciled  to  her  throughout  the  re 
mainder  of  his  darkened  life. 

Wedlock  was  so  thoroughly  a  new  existence  to  her, 
that  her  kindred  well  might  fear  for  the  result.  A 
veritable  Lady  of  Shalott,  she  now  entered  the  open 
highways  of  a  peopled  world.  She  left  a  polar  region 
of  dreams,  solitude,  introspection,  for  the  equatorial 
belt  of  outer  and  real  life.  The  beneficent  sequel 
shows  how  wise  are  the  instincts  of  a  refined  nature. 
To  Mrs.  Browning,  love,  marriage,  travel,  were  happi 
ness,  desire  of  life,  renewed  bodily  and  spiritual 
health ;  and  when,  in  her  fortieth  year,  the  sacred 
and  mysterious  functions  of  maternity  were  given  her 
to  realize,  there  also  came  that  ripe  fruition  of  a  gen 
ius  that  hitherto,  blooming  in  the  night,  had  yielded 
fragrant  and  impassioned,  but  only  sterile  flowers. 

The   question  of   an   artist's   married   life,  it   seems 


Her  father's 
opposition 
to  the  nup 
tials. 


Complete 
womanhood. 


134 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Relations  of 
art  and 
marriage : 


As  they  af 
fect,  i,  the 
husband; 


to  me,  has  wholly  different  bearings  when  considered 
from  the  opposite  standing-points  of  the  two  sexes. 
A  discerning  writer  has  recently  mentioned  an  artist 
whose  view  was,  that  a  man  devoted  to  art  might 
marry  "either  a  plain,  uneducated  woman  devoted  to 
household  matters,  or  else  a  woman  quite  capable  of 
entering  into  his  artistic  life";  but  no  one  between 
the  two  extremes.  The  former  would  be  less  perilous 
than  to  marry  a  daughter  of  the  Philistines,  "equally 
incapable  of  comprehending  his  pursuits,  but  much 
more  likely  to  interfere  with  them."  Yet  in  behalf 
of  a  man  of  artistic  genius  and  sensibility,  who  is 
born  to  a  career  if  he  chooses  to  pursue  it,  I  would 
not  accept  even  the  first-named  alternative,  unless  he 
has  sufficient  wealth  to  insure  him  perfect  indepen 
dence  or  seclusion.  An  author's  growth,  and  the  hap 
piness  of  both  parties,  are  vastly  imperilled  by  his 
union  with  the  most  affectionate  of  creatures,  if  she 
has  an  inartistic  nature  and  a  dull  or  commonplace 
mind.  The  Laureate  makes  the  simple  wife  exclaim : 
"I  cannot  understand:  I  love!" — but  there  is  no  per 
fect  love  without  mutual  comprehension  ;  at  the  best, 
a  wearisome,  unemotional  forbearance  takes  its  place. 
On  the  one  part  jealousy,  active  or  disguised,  of  the 
other's  wider  range,  too  often  exerts  a  restrictive  in 
fluence,  by  which  the  art-impulse,  and  the  experiences 
it  should  feed  upon,  are  modified  or  repressed.  It 
is  a  law  of  psychological  mathematics  that  the  con 
stant  force  of  dulness  will  in  the  end  overcome  any 
varying  force  resisting  it ;  and  when  Pegasus  can  be 
driven  in  harness,  one  generally  finds  him  yoked  with 
a  brood-mare,  —  ay,  and  broken-in  when  young  and 
more  or  less  defenceless. 

Again,  we   so   readily  persuade   ourselves   to   lapse 


RELATIONS  OF  ART  AND  MARRIAGE. 


135 


from  the  efforts  of  creative  labor,  when  temptation 
puts  on  the  specious  guise  of  duty !  The  finest  kind 
of  art  —  that  possessing  originality — is  unremunerative 
for  years ;  and  who  has  the  courage  to  pursue  it, 
while  responsible  for  the  conventional  ease  and  hap 
piness  of  those  who  possibly  regret  that  he  is  not  so 
practical  as  other  men,  and  look  with  distrust  upon 
his  habits  of  life  and  labor?  Ordinary  people  can 
more  easily  attain  to  that  perfect  mating  which  is  the 
sum  of  bliss.  But  let  an  artist  marry  art,  and  be  true 
to  it  alone,  unless  by  some  rare  chance  he  can  find  a 
companion  whose  soul  is  kindred  with  his  own,  who 
can  sympathize  with  his  tastes,  and  aid  him  with  tact 
and  circumstance  in  his  social  and  professional  career. 
If  she  has  genius  of  her  own,  and  her  own  purposes 
in  any  department  of  art,  then  all  obligations  can  be 
entirely  mutual,  and  under  favorable  auspices  the  high 
est  wedded  felicity  should  be  the  result. 

The  relations  of  art  and  marriage,  where  the  devel 
opment  of  female  genius  is  concerned,  are  of  a  dis 
tinctive  character,  and  must  be  so  considered.  It  is 
no  doubt  true  that  a  woman,  also,  can  only  arrive  at 
extreme  happiness  by  wedlock  founded  upon  entire 
congeniality  of  mind  and  purpose ;  and  yet  there  are 
conditions  under  which  it  may  become  essential  to  her 
complete  development  as  an  artist  that  she  should 
marry  out  of  her  own  ideal,  rather  than  not  be  mar 
ried  at  all.  So  closely  interwrought  are  her  physical 
and  spiritual  existences,  that  otherwise  the  product  of 
her  genius  may  be  little  more  than  a  beautiful  frag 
ment  at  the  most.  We  must  therefore  esteem  Mrs. 
Browning  doubly  fortunate,  and  protected  by  the  gods 
themselves.  For  marriage  not  only  had  given  her,  by 
one  of  Nature's  charming  miracles,  a  precious  lease 


A  s  they  af 
fect,  2,  the 
-wife. 


136 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


TJie  ivedded 
poets. 


Summit 
of  Mrs. 
Browning1  s 
greatness. 


Her  powers 
fully  devel 
oped. 


of  life,  but  had  united  her  with  a  fellow-artist  whose 
disposition  and  pursuits  were  in  absolute  harmony 
with  her  own,  —  the  one  man  in  the  world  whom 
she  would  have  chosen,  yet  who  sought  her  out,  and 
deemed  it  his  highest  joy  to  possess  her  as  a  wife, 
and  cherish  her  as  companion,  lover,  and  friend.  In 
this  life  of  incongruities  it  is  encouraging  to  find  such 
an  instance  of  the  serene  fitness  of  things.  The  world 
is  richer  for  their  union,  than  which  none  more  dis 
tinguished  is  of  record  in  the  annals  of  authorship. 

The  ten  years  following  the  date  of  Mrs.  Brown 
ing's  marriage  were  the  noonday  of  her  life,  and  three 
master-works,  embraced  in  this  period,  represent  her 
at  her  prime.  Casa  Guidi  Windows  appeared  in  1851, 
the  same  volume  including  the  matchless  "  Sonnets 
from  the  Portuguese."  Aurora  Leigh  was  published 
in  1856.  None  of  her  later  or  earlier  compositions 
were  equal  to  these  in  scope,  method,  and  true  poet 
ical  value. 

At  first  the  influence  of  her  new  life  was  of  a  com 
plex  nature.  It  opened  a  sealed  fountain  of  love 
within  her,  which  broke  forth  in  celestial  song:  it 
gave  her  a  land  and  a  cause  to  which  she  thoroughly 
devoted  her  woman's  soul ;  finally,  a  surprising  ad 
vance  was  evident  in  the  rhythm,  language,  and  all 
other  constituents  of  her  metrical  work.  The  Saxon 
English,  which  she  hitherto  had  quarried  from  the 
basis  of  her  verse,  now  became  conspicuous  through 
out  the  whole  structure.  Her  technical  gain  was 
partly  due  to  the  stronger  themes  which  now  bore  up 
her  wing,  —  and  partly,  I  have  no  doubt,  to  the  com 
panionship  of  Robert  Browning.  Even  if  he  did  not 
directly  revise  her  works,  neither  could  fail  to  profit 
by  the  other's  genius  and  experience ;  and  the  blem- 


SONNETS  FROM  THE  PORTUGUESE: 


137 


ishes  of  his  wife's  earlier  style  were  such  as  Browning 
at  this  time  would  not  relish,  for  they  were  of  a  dif 
ferent  kind  from  his  own.  Besides,  we  are  sensitive 
to  faults  in  those  we  love,  while  committing  them  our 
selves  as  if  by  chartered  right. 

I  am  disposed  to  consider  the  Sonnets  from  the  Por 
tuguese  as,  if  not  the  finest,  a  portion  of  the  finest 
subjective  poetry  in  our  literature.  Their  form  re 
minds  us  of  an  English  prototype,  and  it  is  no  sacri 
lege  to  say  that  their  music  is  showered  from  a  higher 
and  purer  atmosphere  than  that  of  the  Swan  of  Avon. 
We  need  not  enter  upon  cold  comparison  of  their 
respective  excellences;  but  Shakespeare's  personal 
poems  were  the  overflow  of  his  impetuous  youth  :  —  his 
broader  vision,  that  took  a  world  within  its  ken,  was 
absolutely  objective ;  while  Mrs.  Browning's  Love  Son 
nets  are  the  outpourings  of  a  woman's  tenderest  emo 
tions,  at  an  epoch  when  her  art  was  most  mature, 
and  her  whole  nature  exalted  by  a  passion  that  to 
such  a  being  comes  but  once  and  for  all.  Here,  in 
deed,  the  singer  rose  to  her  height.  Here  she  is  ab 
sorbed  in  rapturous  utterance,  radiant  and  triumphant 
with  her  own  joy.  The  mists  have  risen  and  her 
sight  is  clear.  Her  mouthing  and  affectation  are  for 
gotten,  her  lips  cease  to  stammer,  the  lyrical  spirit 
has  full  control.  The  sonnet,  artificial  in  weaker 
hands,  becomes  swift  with  feeling,  red  with  a  "  veined 
humanity,"  the  chosen  vehicle  of  a  royal  woman's 
vows.  Graces,  felicities,  vigor,  glory  of  speech,  here 
are  so  crowded  as  to  tread  each  upon  the  other's 
sceptred  pall.  The  first  sonnet,  equal  to  any  in  our 
tongue,  is  an  overture  containing  the  motive  of  the 
canticle ;  —  "  not  Death,  but  Love  "  had  seized  her 
unaware.  The  growth  of  this  happiness,  her  worship 


"Sonnets 
from  the 
Portu 
guese" 
1850. 


138 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Devotion  to 
Italy. 


of  its  bringer,  her  doubts  of  her  own  worthiness,  are 
the  theme  of  these  poems.  She  is  in  a  sweet  and, 
to  us,  pathetic  surprise  at  the  delight  which  at  last 
had  fallen  to  her :  — 

"The  wonder  was  not  yet  quite  gone 
From  that  still  look  of  hers." 

Never  was  man  or  minstrel  so  honored  as  her  "most 
gracious  singer  of  high  poems."  In  the  tremor  of  her 
love  she  undervalued  herself,  —  with  all  her  feebleness 
of  body,  it  was  enough  for  any  man  to  live  within  the 
atmosphere  of  such  a  soul !  In  fine,  the  Portuguese 
Sonnets,  whose  title  was  a  screen  behind  which  the 
singer  poured  out  her  full  heart,  are  the  most  exqui 
site  poetry  hitherto  written  by  a  woman,  and  of  them 
selves  justify  us  in  pronouncing  their  author  the  great 
est  of  her  sex,  —  on  the  ground  that  the  highest 
mission  of  a  female  poet  is  the  expression  of  love, 
and  that  no  other  woman  approaching  her  in  genius 
has  essayed  the  ultimate  form  of  that  expression.  An 
analogy  with  "  In  Memoriam  "  may  be  derived  from 
their  arrangement  and  their  presentation  of  a  single 
analytic  theme  ;  but  Tennyson's  poem  —  though  ex 
hibiting  equal  art,  more  subtile  reasoning  and  com 
prehensive  thought  —  is  devoted  to  the  analysis  of 
philosophic  Grief,  while  the  Sonnets  reveal  to  us  that 
Love  which  is  the  most  ecstatic  of  human  emotions 
and  worth  all  other  gifts  in  life. 

Mrs.  Browning's  more  than  filial  devotion  to  Italy 
has  become  a  portion  of  the  history  of  our  time.  In 
dependently  of  her  husband's  enthusiasm,  everything 
in  the  aspect  and  condition  of  the  country  of  her 
adoption  was  fitted  to  arouse  this  sentiment.  It  be 
came  a  passion  with  her ;  she  identified  herself  with 


CASA  GUIDI  WINDOWS: 


139 


the  Italian  cause,  and  for  fourteen  years  her  oratory 
in  Casa  Guidi  was  vocal  with  the  aspiration  of  that 
fair  land  struggling  to  be  free.  Its  beauty  and  sorrow 
enthralled  her ;  its  poetry  spoke  through  her  voice  ; 
its  grateful  soil  finally  received  her  ashes,  and  will 
treasure  them  for  many  an  age  to  come. 

Nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  burst  of  song  at  the 
opening  of  her  Italian  poem,  — 

"I  heard  last  night  a  little  child  go  singing, 
'Neath  Casa  Guidi  windows,  by  the  church, 
O  bella  liberta,  O  bellal"  — 

unless  it  be  the  passages  which  begin  and  close  the 
second  portion  of  the  same  work,  composed  after  an 
interval  of  three  years,  when  the  hope  of  the  first 
exultant  outbreak  was  for  the  time  obscured.  Be 
tween  the  two  extremes  the  chant  is  eloquently  sus 
tained,  and  is  our  best  example  of  lucid,  sonorous 
English  verse  composed  in  a  semi-Italian  rima.  While 
full  of  poetry,  its  increase  of  intellectual  vigor  shows 
how  a  singer  may  be  lifted  by  the  occasion  and  ca 
pacity  for  pleading  a  noble  cause.  Deep  voice,  strong 
heart,  fine  brain,  —  the  three  must  go  together  in 
the  making  of  a  great  poet.  "  Casa  Guidi  Windows  " 
won  a  host  of  friends  to  Italy,  and  gained  for  its 
devoted  author  an  historic  name.  During  the  inter 
val  mentioned  she  had  given  birth  to  the  child  whose 
presence  was  the  awakening  of  a  new  prophetic  gift :  — 

"  The  sun  strikes  through  the  windows,  up  the  floor ; 

Stand  out  in  it,  my  own  young  Florentine, 
Not  two  years  old,  and  let  me  see  thee  more  ! 

It  grows  along  thy  amber  curls  to  shine 
Brighter  than  elsewhere.     Now  look  straight  before, 

And  fix  thy  brave  blue  English  eyes  on  mine, 
And  from  thy  soul,  which  fronts  the  future  so 


140 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


With  unabashed  and  unabated  gaze, 
Teach  me  to  hope  for  what  the  Angels  know 
When  they  smile  clear  as  thou  dost !  " 

While  experience  of  motherhood  now  had  perfected 
her  woman's  nature,  Mrs.  Browning  was  also  at  the 
zenith  of  her  lyrical  career.  Her  minor  verses  of 
the  period  are  admirable.  She  revised  her  earlier 
poetry  for  the  edition  of  1856,  and  Mr.  Tilton  has 
pointed  out  some  of  her  fastidious  and  usually  suc 
cessful  emendations.  It  was  the  happiest  portion  of 
her  life,  as  well  as  the  most  artistic.  The  sunshine 
of  an  enviable  fame  enwreathed  her  ;  rare  and  gifted 
spirits,  wandering  through  Italy,  were  attracted  to  her 
presence  and  paid  homage  to  its  laurelled  charm. 
Hence,  as  a  secondary  effect  of  her  marriage,  her 
knowledge  of  the  world  increased  ;  she  became  a  keen 
though  impulsive  observer  of  men  and  women,  and 
of  the  thought  and  action  of  her  own  time.  Few 
social  movements  escaped  her  notice,  whether  in  Eu 
rope  or  our  own  unrestful  land  ;  her  instincts  were 
in  favor  of  agitation  and  reform,  and  her  imagination 
was  ever  looking  forward  to  the  Golden  Year.  And 
it  was  now  that,  summoning  all  her  strength  —  alas  ! 
how  unequal  was  her  frail  body  to  the  tasks  laid  upon 
it  by  the  aspiring  soul! — with  heroic  determination 
and  most  persistent  industry,  she  undertook  and  com 
pleted  her  capo  (fopera,  —  the  poem  which,  in  dedicat 
ing  to  John  Kenyon,  she  declares  to  be  the  most 
mature  of  her  works,  "  and  the  one  into  which  my 
highest  convictions  upon  Life  and  Art  have  entered." 

If  Mrs.  Browning's  vitality  had  failed  her  before 
the  production  of  "  Aurora  Leigh,"  —  a  poem  com 
prising  twelve  thousand  lines  of  blank-verse,  —  her 
generation  certainly  would  have  lost  one  of  its  repre- 


AURORA   LEIGH. 


141 


sentative  and  original  creations :  representative  in  a 
versatile,  kaleidoscopic  presentment  of  modern  life 
and  issues ;  original,  because  the  most  idiosyncratic 
of  its  author's  poems.  An  audacious,  speculative 
freedom  pervades  it,  which  smacks  of  the  New  World 
rather  than  the  Old.  Tennyson,  while  examining  the 
social  and  intellectual  phases  of  his  era,  maintains  a 
judicial  impassiveness ;  Mrs.  Browning,  with  finer 
dramatic  insight,  —  the  result  of  intense  human  sym 
pathy,  enters  into  the  spirit  of  each  experiment,  and 
for  the  moment  puts  herself  in  its  advocate's  position. 
"  Aurora  Leigh "  is  a  mirror  of  contemporary  life, 
while  its  learned  and  beautiful  illustrations  make  it, 
almost,  a  handbook  of  literature  and  the  arts.  As  a 
poem,  merely,  it  is  a  failure,  if  it  be  fair  to  judge 
it  by  accepted  standards.  One  may  say  of  it,  as  of 
Byron's  "  Don  Juan  "  (though  loath  to  couple  the  two 
works  in  any  comparison),  that,  although  a  most 
uneven  production,  full  of  ups  and  downs,  of  capri 
cious  or  prosaic  episodes,  it  nevertheless  contains 
poetry  as  fine  as  its  author  has  given  us  elsewhere, 
and  enough  spare  inspiration  to  set  up  a  dozen  smaller 
poets.  The  flexible  verse  is  noticeably  her  own,  and 
often  handled  with  as  much  spirit  as  freedom  ;  it  is 
terser  than  her  husband's,  and,  although  his  influence 
now  began  to  grow  upon  her,  is  not  in  the  least  ob 
scure  to  any  cultured  reader.  The  plan  of  the  work 
is  a  metrical  concession  to  the  fashion  of  a  time  which 
has  substituted  the  novel  for  the  dramatic  poem.  Con 
sidered  as  a  "  novel  in  verse,"  it  is  a  failure  by  lack 
of  either  constructive  talent  or  experience  on  the 
author's  part.  Few  great  poets  invent  their  myths  ; 
few  prose  character-painters  are  successful  poets  ;  the 
epic  songsters  have  gone  to  tradition  for  their  themes, 


142 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


the  romantic  to  romance,  the  dramatic  to  history  and 
incident  Mrs.  Browning  essayed  to  invent  her  whole 
story,  and  the  result  was  an  incongruous  framework, 
covered  with  her  thronging,  suggestive  ideas,  her 
flashing  poetry  and  metaphor,  and  confronting  you  by 
whichever  gateway  you  enter  with  the  instant  presence 
of  her  very  self.  But  either  as  poem  or  novel,  how 
superior  the  whole,  in  beauty  and  intellectual  power, 
to  contemporary  structures  upon  a  similar  model, 
which  found  favor  with  the  admirers  of  parlor  ro 
mance  or  the  lamb's-wool  sentiment  of  orderly  British 
life !  As  a  social  treatise  it  is  also  a  failure,  since 
nothing  definite  is  arrived  at.  Yet  the  poet's  sense 
of  existing  wrongs  is  clear  and  exalted,  and  if  her 
exposition  of  them  is  chaotic,  so  was  the  transition 
period  in  which  she  found  herself  involved.  Upon 
the  whole,  I  think  that  the  chief  value  and  interest  of 
"  Aurora  Leigh "  appertain  to  its  marvellous  illustra 
tions  of  the  development,  from  childhood  on,  of  an 
assthetical,  imaginative  nature.  Nowhere  in  literature 
is  the  process  of  culture  by  means  of  study  and  pas 
sional  experience  so  graphically  depicted.  It  is  the 
metrical  and  feminine  complement  to  Thackeray's 
"  Pendennis "  ;  a  poem  that  will  be  rightly  appreci 
ated  by  artists,  thinkers,  poets,  and  by  them  alone. 
Landor,  for  example,  at  once  received  it  into  favor, 
and  also  laid  an  unerring  finger  upon  its  weakest 
point:  "I  am  reading  a  poem,"  he  wrote,  "full  of 
thought  and  fascinating  with  fancy.  In  many  pages 

there   is   the  wild  imagination  of  Shakespeare 

I  had  no  idea  that  any  one  in  this  age  was  capa 
ble  of  such  poetry There  are,  indeed,  even 

here,  some  flies  upon  the  surface,  as  there  always 
will  be  upon  what  is  sweet  and  strong.  I  know  not 


HER  PERIOD   OF  DECLINE. 


143 


yet   what    the    story   is.     Few  possess    the    power    of 
construction." 

The  five  remaining  years  of  Mrs.  Browning's  life 
were  years  of  self-forgetfulness  and  devotion  to  the 
heroic  and  true.  Her  beautiful  character  is  exhibited 
in  her  correspondence,  and  in  the  tributes  of  those 
who  were  privileged  to  know  her.  What  poetry  she 
wrote  is  left  to  us,  and  I  am  compelled  to  look  upon 
it  as  belonging  to  her  period  of  decline.  However 
fine  its  motive,  "  we  are  here,"  as  M.  Taine  has  said, 
to  judge  of  the  product  alone,  and  "  to  realize,  not  an 
ode,  but  a  law."  Physical  debility  was  the  main  cause 
of  this  lyrical  falling  off.  Her  exhausted  frame  was 
now,  more  than  ever,  what  Hillard  had  pronounced  it, 
"  nearly  a  transparent  veil  for  a  celestial  and  immor 
tal  spirit."  Her  feelings  were  again  more  imperative 
than  her  mastery  of  art ;  her  hand  trembled,  her  voice 
quavered  with  that  emotion  which  is  not  strength. 
She  now,  as  I  have  said,  unconsciously  began  to  yield 
to  the  prolonged  influence  of  her  husband's  later  style, 
and  it  affected  her  own  injuriously,  though  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  her  poetry  acquired,  toward  the 
last,  a  new  and  genuine,  but  painful,  dramatic  quality. 
Her  "Napoleon  III.  in  Italy,"  and  the  minor  lyrics 
upon  the  Italian  question,  are  submitted  in  evidence 
of  the  several  points  just  made.  Some  of  her  later 
poems  were  contributed  to  a  New  York  newspaper, 
with  whose  declared  opinions  she  was  in  sympathy, 
and  which  was  the  mouthpiece  of  her  warmest  Amer 
ican  admirers ;  and,  in  the  effort  to  promptly  meet  her 
engagements,  she  tendered  unrevised  and  faulty  work. 
At  intervals  the  production  of  some  gracious,  health 
ful  hour  would  be  a  truly  effective  poem,  and  such 
lyrics  as  "  De  Profundis,"  "A  Court  Lady,"  "The 


Mrs. 

Browning's 
period  of 
decline. 


Secondary 
influence  of 
her  married 
life. 


"  Poems  be 
fore  Con 
gress"  1860. 


"  The  Inde 
pendent" 


144 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


"Last 

Poems" 

1860-186 


Final  esti 
mate  of  Mrs. 
Browning's 
genius. 


Her  art. 


Tennyson 
and  Mrs. 
Browning. 


Forced  Recruit,"  "  Parting  Lovers/'  and  "  Mother  and 
Poet,"  made  the  world  realize  how  rich  and  tuneful 
could  be  the  voice  still  left  to  her.  One  evening  it 
was  my  fortune  to  listen  to  a  recitation  of  the  last- 
named  poem,  from  the  lips  of  a  beautiful  girl  who 
looked  the  very  embodiment  of  the  lyric  Muse,  and  I 
was  struck  with  the  truthfulness  and  strength  displayed 
in  the  poet's  dramatic  conception  of  the  mingled  pa 
triotism  and  anguish  in  a  bereaved  Italian  mother's 
heart.  But  the  dominant  roughness  which  too  gen 
erally  pervades  her  Last  Poems  shows  how  completely 
she  now  had  accepted  Browning's  theory  of  entire 
subordination,  in  poetry,  of  the  art  to  the  thought, 
and  his  method  of  giving  expression  to  the  latter,  no 
matter  how  inchoate,  at  any  cost  to  the  finish  and 
effectiveness  of  the  work  in  hand. 


IV. 

IN  a  former  chapter  I  wrote  of  "  an  inspired  singer, 
if  there  ever  was  one,  —  all  fire  and  air,  —  her  song 
and  soul  alike  devoted  to  liberty,  aspiration,  and  love." 
The  career  of  this  gifted  woman  has  now  been  traced. 
In  conclusion,  let  us  attempt  to  estimate  her  genius 
and  discover  the  position  to  be  assigned  to  her 
among  contemporary  poets. 

And  first,  with  regard  to  her  qualities  as  an 
artist.  She  was  thought  to  resemble  Tennyson  in 
some  of  her  early  pieces,  but  this  was  a  mistake,  if 
anything  beyond  form  is  to  be  considered.  In  read 
ing  Tennyson  you  feel  that  he  drives  stately  and 
thoroughbred  horses,  and  has  them  always  under 
control ;  that  he  could  reach  a  higher  speed  at  pleas 
ure  ;  while  Mrs.  Browning's  chargers,  half -untamed, 


FINAL  ESTIMATE   OF  HER  GENIUS. 


145 


prance  or  halt  at  their  own  will,  and  often  bear  her 
away  over  some  rugged,  dimly  lighted  tract.  Her 
verse  was  the  perfect  exponent  of  her  own  nature,  in 
cluding  a  wide  variety  of  topics  in  its  range,  but  with 
the  author's  manner  injected  through  every  line  of 
it.  Health  is  not  its  prominent  characteristic.  Mrs. 
Browning's  creative  power  was  not  equal  to  her  ca 
pacity  to  feel ;  otherwise  there  was  nothing  she  might 
not  have  accomplished.  She  evinced  over-possession, 
and  certainly  had  the  contortions  of  the  Sibyl,  though 
not  lacking  the  inspiration.  We  feel  that  she  must 
have  expression,  or  perish,  —  a  lack  of  restraint  com 
mon  to  female  poets.  She  was  somewhat  deficient  in 
aesthetic  conscientiousness,  and  we  cannot  say  of  her 
works,  as  of  Tennyson's,  that  they  include  nothing 
which  has  failed  to  receive  the  author's  utmost  care. 
She  had  that  distrust  of  the  "effect"  of  her  produc 
tions  which  betrays  a  clouded  vision ;  and  in  truth, 
much  of  her  vaguer  work  well  might  be  distrusted. 
Her  imagination  was  radiant,  but  seldom  clear;  it  was 
the  moon  obscured  by  mists,  yet  encircled  with  a  glo 
rious  halo. 

Her  metres  came  by  chance,  and  this  often  to  her 
detriment;  she  rarely  had  the  patience  to  discover 
those  best  adapted  to  her  needs,  but  gave  voice  to  the 
first  strain  which  occurred  to  her.  Hence  she  had  a 
spontaneity  which  is  absent  from  the  Laureate's  work. 
This  charming  element  has  its  drawbacks:  she  found 
herself  hampered  by  difficulties  which  a  little  fore 
thought  would  have  avoided,  and  her  song,  though  as 
fresh,  was  too  often  as  purposeless,  as  that  of  a  forest- 
bird.  There  is  great  music  in  her  voice,  but  one 
wishes  that  it  were  better  trained.  She  had  a  gift  of 
melodious  and  effective  refrains  :  "  The  Nightingales, 
7  J 


Over-posses 
sion. 


Incertitude. 


Sponta  neily. 


Her  re 
frains. 


146 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


the  Nightingales,"  "Margret,  Margret,"  "You  see 
we're  tired,  my  Heart  and  I,"  "Toll  slowly!"  "The 
River  floweth  on,"  "Pan,  Pan  is  dead!"  —  these  and 
other  examples  captivate  the  memory,  but  occasion 
ally  the  burden  is  the  chief  sustainer  of  the  song. 
One  of  her  repetends,  "  He  giveth  His  beloved  Sleep," 
is  the  motive  of  an  almost  celestial  lyric,  faultless  in 
holy  and  melodious  design.  It  is  a  poem  to  read  by 
the  weary  couch  of  some  loved  one  passing  away, 
and  doubtless  in  many  a  heart  is  already  associated 
with  memories  that  "lie  too  deep  for  tears." 

Her  spontaneous  and  exhaustless  command  of  words 
gave  her  a  large  and  free  style,  but  likewise  a  danger 
ous  facility,  and  it  was  only  in  rare  instances,  like  the 
one  just  cited,  that  she  attained*  to  the  strength  and 
sweetness  of  repose.  Her  intense  earnestness  spared 
her  no  leisure  for  humor,  a  feature  curiously  absent 
from  her  writings :  she  almost  lacked  the  sense  of  the 
ludicrous,  as  may  be  deduced  from  some  of  her  two- 
word  rhymes,  and  from  various  absurdities  solemnly 
indulged  in.  But  of  wit  and  satire  she  has  more 
than  enough,  and  lashes  all  kinds  of  tyranny  and 
hypocrisy  with  supernal  scorn.  It  is  perhaps  due 
to  her  years  of  indoor  life  that  the  influence  of  land 
scape-scenery  is  not  more  visible  in  her  poetry.  Her 
girlhood,  nevertheless,  was  partly  spent  in  Hereford 
shire,  among  the  Malvern  Hills,  and  we  find  in  "Au 
rora  Leigh,"  and  in  some  of  her  minor  pieces,  not 
only  reminiscences  of  that  region,  but  other  landscape, 
Doth  English  and  Italian,  executed  in  a  broad  and 
admirable  manner.  But  when  she  follows  the  idyllic 
method,  making  the  tone  of  the  background  enhance 
the  feeling  of  a  poem,  she  uses  by  preference  the 
works  of  man  rather  than  those  of  Nature :  architect- 


THE  MOST  BELOVED   OF  POETS. 


147 


ure,  furniture,  pictures,  books  above  all,  rather  than 
water,  sky,  and  forest.  Men  and  women  were  the 
chief  objects  of  her  regard,  —  her  genius  was  more 
dramatic  than  idyllic,  and  lyric  first  of  all. 

The  instinct  of  worship  and  the  religion  of  human 
ity  were  pervading  constituents  of  Mrs.  Browning's 
nature,  and  demand  no  less  attention  than  the  love 
which  dictated  her  most  fervent  poems.  A  spiritual 
trinity,  of  zeal,  love,  and  worship,  presided  over  net 
work.  If  in  her  outcry  against  wrong  she  had  noth 
ing  decisive  to  suggest,  she  at  least  sounded  a  clarion 
note  for  the  incitement  of  her  comrades  and  succes 
sors,  and  this  was  her  mission  as  a  reformer.  Re 
ligious  exaltation  breathes  through  every  page  of  her 
compositions.  Her  eulogist  aptly  called  her  the  Blaise 
Pascal  of  women,  and  said  that  her  books  were  prayer- 
books.  She  had  a  profound  faith  in  Christian  revela 
tion,  interpreted  in  its  most  catholic  sense.  Her 
broad  humanity  and  religion,  her  defence  of  her  sex, 
her  subtile  and  tender  knowledge  of  the  hearts  of 
children,  her  abnegation,  hope,  and  faith,  seemed  the 
apotheosis  of  womanhood  and  drew  to  her  the  affec 
tion  of  readers  in  distant  lands.  She  was  the  most 
beloved  of  minstrels  and  women.  Jean  Paul  said  of 
Herder  that  he  was  less  a  poet  than  a  poem,  but  in 
Mrs.  Browning  the  two  were  blended  :  she  wrote  her 
self  into  her  works,  and  I  have  closely  reviewed  her 
experience,  because  it  is  inseparable  from  her  lyrical 
career.  The  English  love  to  call  her  Shakespeare's 
Daughter,  and  in  truth  she  bears  to  their  greatest 
poet  the  relation  of  Miranda  to  Prospero.  Her  deli 
cate  genius  was  purely  feminine  and  subjective,  attri 
butes  that  are  made  to  go  together.  Most  introspective 
poetry,  in  spite  of  Sidney's  injunction,  wearies  us, 


Her  sympa 
thetic  and 
religious 
nature. 


The  most 
beloved  of 
foets. 


Subjective 
quality  of 
her  genius. 


148 


ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 


Her  repre 
sentative 
position. 


Belief  in 
inspiration. 


Her  exalta 
tion  am 


because  it  so  often  is  the  petty  or  morbid  sentiment 
of  natures  little  superior  to  our  own.     Men  have  more  t_ 
conceit,  with   less   tact,   than  women,  and,  as  a  rule,  \ 
when   male   poets   write   objectively   they   are   on   the  •' 
safer  side.     But  when  an  impassioned  woman,  yearn 
ing  to  let  the  world  share  her  poetic  rapture  or  grief, 
reveals  the  secrets  of  her  burning  heart,  generations 
adore   her,  literature  is  enriched,  and  grosser   beings 
have  glimpses  of  a  purity  with  which  we  invest  our 
conceptions    of    disenthralled    spirits    in    some    ideal 
sphere. 

I  therefore  regard  Mrs.  Browning  as  the  representa 
tive  of  her  sex  in  the  Victorian  era,  and  a  luminous 
example  of  the  fact  that  "  woman  is  not  undeveloped 
man,  but  diverse  "  j  as  the  passion-flower  of  the  cen 
tury  •  the  conscious  medium  of  some  power  beyond 
the  veil.  For,  if  she  was  wanting  in  reverence  for 
the  form  and  body  of  the  poet's  art,  she  more  than 
all  her  tuneful  brethren  revered  the  poet's  inspiration. 
To  her  poets  were 

"  the  only  truth-tellers  now  left  to  God  ; 
The  only  speakers  of  essential  truth, 
Opposed  to  relative,  comparative, 
And  temporal  truths  ;  the  only  holders  by 
His  sun-skirts." 

And  this  in  a  period  when  technical  refinement  has 
caused  the  mass  of  verse-makers  to  forget  that  art 
is  vital  chiefly  as  a  means  of  expression.  Like  her 
Hebrew  poets,  she  was  obedient  "  to  the  heavenly 
vision,"  and  I  think  that  the  form  of  her  religion, 
which  was  in  sympathy  with  the  teachings  of  Emanuel 
Swedenborg,  enables  us  clearly  to  understand  her 
genius  and  works.  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  surren- 
Idered  herself  to  the  play  of  her  imagination,  as  if 


DEATH  OF   THE   SIBYL. 


149 


some  angelic  voice  were  speaking  through  her,  —  and 
of  what  other  modern  poet  can  this  be  said  ?  With 
equal  powers  of  expression,  such  a  faith  exalts  the 
bard  to  an  apocalyptic  prophet,  —  to  the  consecrated 
interpreter,  of  whom  Plato  said  in  "  Ion,"  "  A  poet 
is  a  thing  light,  with  wings,  and  unable  to  compose 
poetry  until  he  becomes  inspired  and  is  out  of  his 
sober  senses,  and  his  imagination  is  no  longer  under 
his  control ;  for  he  does  not  compose  by  art,  but 
through  a  divine  power." 

At  the  close  of  the  first  summer  month  of  1861,  a 
memorable  year  for  Italy,  the  land  of  song  was  free, 
united,  once  more  a  queen  among  the  nations ;  but 
the  voice  of  its  sweetest  singer  was  hushed,  the  golden 
harp  was  broken;  the  sibylline  minstrel  lay  dying  in 
the  City  of  Flowers.  She  was  at  the  last,  as  ever, 
the  enraptured  seer  of  celestial  visions.  Some  efflux 
of  imperishable  glory  passed  before  her  eyes,  and  she 
said  that  it  was  beautiful.  It  seemed,  to  those  around 
her,  as  if  she  died  beholding 

"  in  jasper-stone  as  clear  as  glass, 
The  first  foundations  of  that  new,  near  Day 
Which  should  be  builded  out  of  Heaven  to  God." 


Died  in 
Florence, 
June  29, 
1861. 


UNIVKKSITY    OF 

CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER     V. 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


Alfred 
Tennyson^ 
Poet-Lau 
reate:  born 
at  Somerby, 
Lincoln 
shire,  1 8 10. 


Laiv  of 
change  in 
public  taste. 


A  case  in 
Point. 


I. 

'  I  ^HAT  a  new  king  should  arise  "  over  Egypt,  which 
J.  knew  not  Joseph,"  was  but  the  natural  order 
of  events.  The  wonder  is  that  nothing  less  than  the 
death  of  one  Pharaoh,  and  the  succession  of  another, 
could  oust  a  favorite  from  his  position.  Statesman 
or  author,  that  public  man  is  fortunate  who  does  not 
find  himself  subjected  to  the  neglectful  caprices  of  his 
own  generation,  after  some  time  be  past  and  the  dura 
tion  of  his  influence  unusually  prolonged.  There  is 
a  law  founded  in  our  dread  of  monotony,  in  that 
weariness  of  soul  which  we  call  ennui,  —  the  spiritual 
counterpart  of  a  loathing  which  even  the  manna  that 
fell  from  heaven  at  last  bred  in  the  Israelites:  a  law 
that  affects,  as  surely  as  death,  statesmen,  moralists, 
heroes,  —  and  equally  the  renowned  artist  or  poet. 
The  law  is  Nature's  own,  and  man's  perception  of  it 
is  the  true  apology  for  each  fashion  as  it  flies.  But 
Nature,  with  all  her  changes,  is  secure  in  certain 
noble,  recurrent  types ;  and  so  there  are  elevated 
modes  of  art,  to  which  we  sometimes  not  unwillingly 
bid  farewell,  knowing  that  after  a  time  they  will  re 
turn,  and  be  welcome  again  and  forever. 

At  present  we  have  only  to  observe  the  working  of 
this  law  with  respect  to  the  acknowledged  leader,  by 


LAW  OF  CHANGE  IN  PUBLIC  TASTE. 


influence  and  laurelled  rank,  of  the  Victorian  poetic 
hierarchy.  He,  too,  has  verified  in  his  recent  experi 
ence  the  statement  that,  as  admired  poets  advance  in 
years,  the  people  and  the  critics  begin  to  mistrust  the 
quality  of  their  genius,  are  disposed  to  revise  the  laud 
atory  judgments  formerly  pronounced  upon  them,  and, 
finally,  to  claim_  that  they  have  been  overrated,  and  are 
not  men  of  high  reach.  Such  is  the  result  of  that  long 
familiarity  whereby  a  singer's  audience  becomes  some 
what  weary  of  his  notes,  and  it  is  exaggerated  in 
direct  ratio  with  the  potency  of  the  influence  against 
which  a  revolt  is  made.  In  fact,  the  grander  the 
success  the  more  trying  the  reaction.  It  is  what  the 
ancients  meant  by  the  envy  of  the  gods,  unto  which 
too  fortunate  men  were  greatly  subjected.  Alternate 
periods  of  favor  and  rejection  not  only  follow  one 
another  in  cycles,  by  generations,  or  by  centuries 
even ;  but  the  individual  artist,  during  a  long  career, 
will  find  himself  tested  by  minor  perturbations  of  the 
same  kind,  varying  with  his  successive  achievements, 
and  the  varying  conditions  of  atmosphere  and  time. 

The  influence  of  Alfred  Tennyson  has  been  almost 
unprecedentedly  dominant,  fascinating,  extended,  yet  of 
late  has  somewhat  vexed  the  public  mind.  Its  repose 
ful  charm  has  given  it  a  more  secure  hold  upon  our 
affections  than  is  usual  in  this  era,  whose  changes 
are  the  more  incessant  because  so  much  more  is 
crowded  into  a  few  years  than  of  old.  Even  of  this 
serene  beauty  we  are  wearied ;  a  murmur  arises ;  re 
bellion  has  broken  out;  the  Laureate  is  irreverently 
criticised,  suspected,  no  longer  worshipped  as  a  demi 
god.  Either  because  he  is  not  a  demi-god,  or  that 
through  long  security  he  has  lost  the  power  to  take 
the  buffets  and  rewards  of  fortune  "with  equal 


Recent 
strictures. 


152 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


Office  of  the 
critic. 


thanks,"  he  does  not  move  entirely  contented  within 
the  shadow  that  for  the  hour  has  crossed  his  tri 
umphal  path.  A  little  poem,  "The  Flower,"  is  the 
expression  of  a  genuine  grievance :  his  plant,  at  first 
novel  and  despised,  grew  into  a  superb  flower  of  art, 
was  everywhere  glorious  and  accepted,  yet  now  is 
again  pronounced  a  weed  because  the  seed  is  com 
mon,  and  men  weary  of  a  beauty  too  familiar.  The 
petulance  of  these  stanzas  reveals  a  less  edifying  mat 
ter,  to  wit,  the  failure  of  their  author  in  submission 
to  the  inevitable,  the  lack  of  a  philosophy  which  he 
is  not  slow  to  recommend  to  his  fellows.  If  he  verily 
hears  "  the  roll  of  the  ages,"  as  he  has  declared  in 
his  answer  to  "A  Spiteful  Letter,"  why  then  so  rest 
ive?  Why  not  recognize,  even  in  his  own  case,  the 
benignity  of  a  law  which,  as  Cicero  said  of  death, 
must  be  a  blessing  because  it  is  universal?  He  him 
self  has  taught  us,  in  the  wisest  language  of  our  time, 

that 

"  God  fulfils  himself  in  many  ways, 
Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  world." 

No  change,  no  progress.  Better  to  decline,  if  need 
be,  upon  some  inferior  grade,  that  all  methods  may 
be  tested.  Ultimately,  disgust  of  the  false  will  bring 
a  reaction  to  something  as  good  as  the  best  which 
has  been  known  before. 

Last  of  all,  the  world's  true  and  enduring  verdict. 
In  calmer  moments  the  Laureate  must  needs  reflect 
that  a  future  age  will  look  back,  measure  him  as  he 
is,  and  compare  his  works  with  those  of  his  contem 
poraries.  To  forestall,  as  far  as  may  be,  this  stead 
fast  judgment  of  posterity,  is  the  aim  and  service  of 
the  critic.  Let  us  separate  ourselves  from  the  adu 
lation  and  envy  of  the  moment,  and  search  for  the 


HE  REPRESENTS  HIS  PERIOD. 


153 


true  relation  of  Tennyson  to  his  era,  —  estimating  his 
poetry,  not  by  our  appetite  for  it,  but  by  its  inherent 
quality,  and  its  lasting  value  in  the  progress  of  British 
song. 

There  have  been  few  comprehensive  reviews  of 
Tennyson's  poetical  career.  The  artistic  excellence 
of  his  work  has  been,  from  the  first,  so  distinguished 
that  lay  critics  are  often  at  a  loss  how  to  estimate 
this  poet.  We  have  had  admirable  homilies  upon 
the  spirit  of  his  teachings,  the  scope  and  nature  of 
his  imagination,  his  idyllic  quality,  —  his  landscape, 
characters,  language,  Anglicanism,  —  but  nothing  ade 
quately  setting  forth  his  technical  superiority.  I  am 
aware  that  professional  criticism  is  apt  to  be  unduly 
technical ;  to  neglect  the  soul,  in  its  concern  for  the 
body,  of  art.  My  present  effort  is  to  consider  both  ; 
nevertheless,  with  relation  to  Tennyson,  above  all 
other  modern  poets,  how  little  can  be  embraced  within 
the  limits  of  an  essay !  The  specialist-reviewer  has 
the  advantage  of  being  thorough  as  far  as  he  goes. 
All  I  can  hope  is  to  leave  no  important  point  un 
touched,  though  my  reference  to  it  may  be  restricted 
to  a  single  phrase. 


II. 

IT  seems  to  me  that  the  only  just  estimate  of  Ten 
nyson's  position  is  that  which  declares  him  to  be, 
by  eminence,  the  representative  poet  of  the  recent 
era.  Not,  like  one  or  another  of  his  compeers,  repre 
sentative  of  the  melody,  wisdom,  passion,  or  other 
partial  phase  of  the  era,  but  of  the  time  itself,  with  its 
diverse  elements  in  harmonious  conjunction.  Years 
have  strengthened  my  belief  that  a  future  age  will 
7* 


154 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


E.  A.  Foe's 
essay  on 
"  The  Poetic 
Principle" 


regard  him,  independently  of  his  merits,  as  bearing 
this  relation  to  his  period.  In  his  verse  he  is  as 
truly  "  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form  " 
of  the  Victorian  generation  in  the  nineteenth  century 
as  Spenser  was  of  the  Elizabethan  court,  Milton  of 
the  Protectorate,  Pope  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne. 
During  his  supremacy  there  have  been  few  great 
leaders,  at  the  head  of  different  schools,  such  as  be 
longed  to  the  time  of  Byron,  Wordsworth,  and  Keats. 
His  poetry  has  gathered  all  the  elements  which  find 
vital  expression  in  the  complex  modern  art. 

Has  the  influence  of  Tennyson  made  the  recent 
British  school,  or  has  his  genius  itself  been  modified 
and  guided  by  the  period  ?  It  is  the  old  question  of 
the  river  and  the  valley.  The  two  have  taken  shape 
together;  yet  the  beauty  of  Tennyson's  verse  was  so 
potent  from  the  first,  and  has  so  increased  in  potency, 
that  we  must  pronounce  him  an  independent  genius, 
certainly  more  than  the  mere  creature  of  his  sur 
roundings. 

Years  ago,  when  he  was  yet  comparatively  unknown, 
an  American  poet,  himself  finely  gifted  with  the  lyrical 
ear,  was  so  impressed  by  Tennyson's  method,  that, 
"  in  perfect  sincerity,"  he  pronounced  him  "  the  noblest 
poet  that  ever  lived."  If  he  had  said  "the  noblest 
artist,"  and  confined  this  judgment  to  lyrists  of  the 
English  tongue,  he  possibly  would  have  made  no 
exaggeration.  Yet  there  have  been  artists  with  a  less 
conscious  manner  and  a  broader  style.  The  Laureate 
is  always  aware  of  what  he  is  doing  ;  he  is  his  own 
daimon,  —  the  inspirer  and  controller  of  his  own 
utterances.  He  sings  by  note  no  less  than  by  ear, 
and  follows  a  score  of  his  own  inditing.  But,  ac 
knowledging  his  culture,  we  have  no  right  to  assume 


A   BORN  ARTIST. 


155 


that  his  ear  is  not  as  fine  as  that  of  any  poet  who 
gives  voice  with  more  careless  rapture.  His  aver 
age  is  higher  than  that  of  other  English  masters, 
though  there  may  be  scarcely  one  who  in  special 
flights  has  not  excelled  him.  By  Spencer's  law  of 
progress,  founded  on  the  distribution  of  values,  his 
poetry  is  more  eminent  than  most  which  has  pre 
ceded  it. 

I  have  inferred  that  the  very  success  of  Tennyson's 
art  has  made  it  common  in  our  eyes,  and  rendered 
us  incapable  of  fairly  judging  it.  When  a  poet  has 
length  of  days,  and  sees  his  language  a  familiar  por 
tion  of  men's  thoughts,  he  no  longer  can  attract  that 
romantic  interest  with  which  the  world  regards  a 
genius  freshly  brought  to  hearing.  Men  forget  that 
he,  too,  was  once  new,  unhackneyed,  appetizing.  But 
recall  the  youth  of  Tennyson,  and  see  how  complete 
the  revolution  with  which  he  has,  at  least,  been  coeval, 
and  how  distinct  his  music  then  seemed  from  every 
thing  which  had  gone  before. 

He  began  as  a  metrical  artist,  pure  and  simple, 
and  with  a  feeling  perfectly  unique,  —  at  a  long  re 
move,  even,  from  that  of  so  absolute  an  artist  as  was 
John  Keats.  He  had  very  little  notion  beyond  the 
production  of  rhythm,  melody,  color,  and  other  poetic 
effects.  Instinct  led  him  to  construct  his  machinery 
before  essaying  to  build.  Many  have  discerned,  in 
his  youthful  pieces,  the  influence  of  Wordsworth  and 
Keats,  but  no  less  that  of  the  Italian  poets,  and  of 
the  early  English  balladists.  I  shall  hereafter  revert 
to  "  Oriana,"  "  Mariana,"  and  "  The  Lady  of  Shalott," 
as  work  that  in  its  kind  is  fully  up  to  the  best  of 
those  Pre-Raphaelites  who,  by  some  arrest  of  devel 
opment,  stop  precisely  where  Tennyson  made  his 


Hindrances 
to  correct 
apprecia 
tion. 


A  born 
artist. 


The  Pre- 
Raphaelites. 


156 


ALFRED   TENNYSON 


His  early 
study  of 
details. 


Poetry  chief 
of  the  fine 
arts. 


second  step  forward,  and  censure  him  for  having  gone 
beyond  them. 

Meaningless  as  are  the  opening  melodies  of  his  col 
lected  verse,  how  delicious  they  once  seemed,  as  a 
change  from  even  the  greatest  productions  which  then 
held  the  public  ear.  Here  was  something  of  a  new 
kind !  The  charm  was  legitimate.  Tennyson's  im 
mediate  predecessors  were  so  fully  occupied  with  the 
mass  of  a  composition  that  they  slighted  details : 
what  beauty  they  displayed  was  not  of  the  parts,  but 
of  the  whole.  Now,  in  all  arts,  the  natural  advance 
is  from  detail  to  general  effect.  How  seldom  those 
who  begin  with  a  broad  treatment,  which  apes  ma 
turity,  acquire  subsequently  the  minor  graces  that 
alone  can  finish  the  perfect  work !  By  comparison 
of  the  late  and  early  writings  of  great  English  poets, 
—  Shakespeare  and  Milton,  —  one  observes  the  pro 
cess  of  healthful  growth.  Tennyson  proved  his  kin 
dred  genius  by  this  instinctive  study  of  details  in  his 
immature  verses.  In  marked  contrast  to  his  fellows, 
and  to  every  predecessor  but  Keats,  — "  that  strong, 
excepted  soul,"  —  he  seemed  to  perceive  from  the 
outset,  that  Poetry  is  an  art,  and  chief  of  the  fine  arts  : 
the  easiest  to  dabble  in,  the  hardest  in  which  to  reach 
true  excellence;  that  it  has  its  technical  secrets,  its 
mysterious  lowly  paths  that  reach  to  aerial  outlooks, 
and  this  no  less  than  sculpture,  painting,  music, 
or  architecture,  but  even  more.  He  devoted  himself, 
with  the  eager  spirit  of  youth,  to  mastering  this  ex 
quisite  art,  and  wreaked  his  thoughts  upon  expres 
sion,  for  the  expression's  sake.  And  what  else  should 
one  attempt,  with  small  experiences,  little  concern 
for  the  real  world,  and  less  observation  of  it  ?  He 
had  dreams  rather  than  thoughts ;  but  was  at  the 


A    TRANSITION  PERIOD, 


157 


most  sensitive  period  of  life  with  regard  to  rhythm, 
color,  and  form.  In  youth  feeling  is  indeed  "  deeper 
than  all  thought,"  and  responds  divinely  to  every 
sensuous  confrontment  with  the  presence  of  beauty. 

It  is  difficult  now  to  realize  how  chaotic  was  the 
notion  of  art  among  English  verse-makers  at  the  be 
ginning  of  Tennyson's  career.  Not  even  the  example 
of  Keats  had  taught  the  needful  lesson,  and  I  look 
upon  his  successor's  early  efforts  as  of  no  small 
importance.  These  were  dreamy  experiments  in  metre 
and  word-painting,  and  spontaneous  after  their  kind. 
Readers  sought  not  to  analyze  their  meaning  and 
grace.  The  significance  of  art  has  since  become  so 
well  understood,  and  such  results  have  been  attained, 
that  "  Claribel,"  "  Lilian,"  "  The  Merman,"  "  The  Dy 
ing  Swan,"  "The  Owl,"  etc.,  seem  slight  enough  to 
us  now ;  and  even  then  the  affectation  pervading 
them,  which  was  merely  the  error  of  a  poetic  soul 
groping  for  its  true  form  of  expression,  repelled  men 
of  severe  and  established  tastes ;  but  to  the  neophyte 
they  had  the  charm  of  sighing  winds  and  babbling 
waters,  a  wonder  of  luxury  and  weirdness,  inexpres 
sible,  not  to  be  effaced.  How  we  lay  on  the  grass,  in 
June,  and  softly  read  them  from  the  white  page ! 
To  this  day  what  lyrics  better  hold  their  own  than 
"  Mariana "  and  the  "  Recollections  of  the  Arabian 
Nights."  In  these  pieces,  however,  as  in  the  crude 
yet  picturesque  "  Ode  to  Memory,"  the  poet  exhibited 
some  distinctness  of  theme  and  motive,  and,  in  a 
word,  seemed  to  feel  that  he  had  something  to  ex 
press,  if  it  were  but  the  arabesque  shadows  of  his 
fancy-laden  dreams.  Of  a  mass  of  lyrics,  sonnets, 
and  other  metrical  essays,  published  theretofore,  — 
some  contained  in  the  Poems  by  Two  Brothers,  and 


A  transition 
period, 
1820-  1830. 


Charm  of 
Tennyson's 
early  lyrics. 


"  Poems, 
chiefly 
Lyrical" 
1830. 


"Poems  by 
Two  Broth 
ers,"  1827. 


158 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


"Poems: 
1832-33- 


Sudden  and 
delightful 
poetic 
growth. 


A  n  expres 
sion  of  the 
beautiful. 


others  in  the  original  volume  of  1830,  —  I  say  noth 
ing,  for  they  show  little  of  the  purpose  that  charac 
terizes  the  few  early  pieces  which  our  poet  himself 
retains  in  his  collected  works.  One  of  them,  "  Hero 
and  Leander,"  is  too  good  in  its  way  to  be  discarded ; 
the  greater  number  are  juvenile,  often  imitative,  and 
the  excellent  judgment  of  Tennyson  is  shown  by  his 
rejection  of  all  that  have  no  true  position  in  his 
lyrical  rise  and  progress. 

The  volume  of  1832,  which  began  with  "The  Lady 
of  Shalott,"  and  contained  "  Eleanore,"  "  Margaret," 
"  The  Miller's  Daughter,"  "  The  Palace  of  Art,"  "  The 
May  Queen,"  "  Fatima,"  "The  Lotos-Eaters,"  and 
"  A  Dream  of  Fair  Women,"  was  published  in  his 
twenty-second  year.  All  in  all,  a  more  original  and 
beautiful  volume  of  minor  poetry  never  was  added 
to  our  literature.  The  Tennysonian  manner  here  was 
clearly  developed,  largely  pruned  of  mannerisms. 
The  command  of  delicious  metres  ;  the  rhythmic  su- 
surrus  of  stanzas  whose  every  word  is  as  needful  and 
studied  as  the  flower  or  scroll  of  ornamental  archi 
tecture, —  yet  so  much  an  interlaced  portion  of  the 
whole,  that  the  special  device  is  forgotten  in  the 
general  excellence  ;  the  effect  of  color,  of  that  music 
which  is  a  passion  in  itself,  of  the  scenic  pictures 
which  are  the  counterparts  of  changeful  emotions ; 
all  are  here,  and  the  poet's  work  is  the  epitome  of 
every  mode  in  art.  Even  if  these  lyrics  and  idyls  had 
expressed  nothing,  they  were  of  priceless  value  as 
guides  to  the  renaissance  of  beauty.  Thenceforward 
slovenly  work  was  impossible,  subject  to  instant  re 
buke  by  contrast.  The  force  of  metrical  elegance 
made  its  way  and  carried  everything  before  it.  From 
this  day  Tennyson  confessedly  took  his  place  at  the 


THE    VOLUME   OF  1832. 


head  of  what  some  attempt  to  classify  as  the  art- 
school  :  that  is,  of  poets  who  largely  produce  their 
effect  by  harmonizing  scenery  and  detail  with  the 
emotions  or  impassioned  action  of  their  verse. 

The  tendency  of  his  genius  was  revealed  in  this 
volume.  The  author  plainly  was  a  college-man,  a 
student  of  many  literatures,  and,  though  an  English 
man  to  the  core,  alive  to  suggestions  from  Italian 
and  Grecian  sources.  His  Gothic  feeling  was  mani 
fest  in  "The  Lady  of  Shalott"  and  "The  Sisters"; 
his  classicism  in  "  CEnone " ;  his  idyllic  method,  es 
pecially,  now  defined  itself,  making  the  scenery  of  a 
poem  enhance  the  central  idea,  —  thought  and  land 
scape  being  so  blended  that  it  was  difficult  to  deter 
mine  which  suggested  the  other. 

I  shall  elsewhere  examine  with  some  care  the  rela 
tions  between  Tennyson  and  Theocritus,  and  the  gen 
eral  likeness  of  the  Victorian  to  the  Alexandrian 
period,  and  at  present  need  not  enter  upon  this  spe 
cial  ground.  Enough  to  say  that  the  Greek  influence 
is  visible  in  many  portions  of  the  volume  of  1832, 
sometimes  through  almost  literal  translations  of  clas 
sical  passages.  "  CEnone,"  modelled  upon  the  new- 
Doric  verse,  ranks  with  "  Lycidas "  as  an  Hellenic 
study.  While  this  most  chaste  and  beautiful  poem 
fascinated  every  reader,  the  wisest  criticism  found 
more  of  genuine  worth  in  the  purely  English  quality 
of  those  limpid  pieces  in  which  the  melody  of  the 
lyric  is  wedded  to  the  sentiment  and  picture  of  the 
idyl,  — "The  Miller's  Daughter,"  "The  May  Queen," 
and  "  Lady  Clara  Vere  de  Vere."  More  dewy,  fresh, 
pathetic,  native  verse  had  not  been  written  since  the 
era  of  "As  You  Like  It"  and  "A  Winter's  Tale." 
During  ten  years  this  book  accomplished  its  auspi- 


The"  art- 
school" 


Tendency 

ofthepoefs 

genius. 


See  Chapter 
VL 


Classicism. 


Purely  Eng 
lish  idyls. 


i6o 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


"Poems," 
1842. 


A  treasury 

of  represent 
ative  poems. 


Blank-verse. 


Previous 
styles. 


cious  work,  until  the  author's  fame  and  influence  had 
so  extended  that  he  was  encouraged  to  print  the  vol 
ume  of  1842,  wherein  he  first  gave  the  name  of  idyls 
to  poems  of  the  class  that  has  brought  him  a  distinc 
tive  reputation. 

At  the  present  day,  were  this  volume  to  be  lost, 
we  possibly  should  be  deprived  of  a  larger  specific 
variety  of  Tennyson's  most  admired  poems  than  is 
contained  in  any  other  of  his  successive  ventures.  It 
is  an  assortment  of  representative  poems.  To  an  art 
more  restrained  and  natural  we  here  find  wedded  a 
living  soul.  The  poet  has  convictions :  he  is  not  a 
pupil,  but  a  master,  and  reaches  intellectual  greatness. 
His  verses  still  bewitch  youths  and  artists  by  their 
sentiments  and  beauty,  but  their  thought  takes  hold  of 
thinkers  and  men  of  the  world.  He  has  learned  not 
only  that  art,  when  followed  for  its  own  sake,  is  al 
luring,  but  that,  when  used  as  a  means  of  expressing 
what  cannot  otherwise  be  quite  revealed,  it  becomes 
seraphic.  We  could  spare,  rather  than  this  collection, 
much  which  he  has  since  given  us :  possibly  "  Maud," 
— without  doubt,  idyls  like  "The  Golden  Supper"  and 
"Aylmer's  Field."  Look  at  the  material  structure  of 
the  poetry.  Here,  at  last,  we  observe  the  ripening 
of  that  blank-verse  which  had  been  suggested  in  the 
"  CEnone."  Consider  Tennyson's  handling  of  this 
measure,  —  the  domino  of  a  poetaster,  the  state  gar 
ment  of  a  lofty  poet.  It  must  be  owned  that  he  now 
enriched  it  by  a  style  entirely  his  own,  and  as  well- 
defined  as  those  already  established.  Foremost  of 
the  latter  was  the  Elizabethan,  marked  by  freedom 
and  power,  and  never  excelled  for  dramatic  compo 
sition.  Next,  the  Miltonic  or  Anglo-Epic,  with  its 
sonorous  grandeur  and  stately  Roman  syntax,  of  which 


THE    VOLUME   OF  1842. 


161 


"Paradise  Lost"  is  the  masterpiece,  and  "Hyperion" 
the  finest  specimen  in  modern  times.  That  it  really 
has  no  place  in  our  usage  is  proved  by  the  fact  that 
Keats,  with  true  insight,  refused,  after  some  experi 
ence,  to  complete  "  Hyperion,"  on  the  ground  that 
it  had  too  many  "  Miltonic  inversions."  Meanwhile 
blank-verse  had  been  used  for  less  imaginative  or  less 
heroical  work;  notably,  for  didactic  and  moralizing 
essays,  by  Cowper,  Wordsworth,  and  other  leaders  of 
the  contemplative  school. 

Tennyson's  is  of  two  kinds,  one  of  which  is  suited 
to  the  heroic  episodes  in  his  idyllic  poetry, — the  first 
important  example  being  the  "  Morte  d' Arthur,"  which 
opened  the  volume  of  1842,  and  is  now  made  a  por 
tion  of  the  "  Idyls  of  the  King."  I  hold  the  verse  of 
that  poem  to  be  his  own  invention,  derived  from  the 
study  of  Homer  and  his  natural  mastery  of  the  Saxon 
element  in  our  language.  Milton's  Latinism  is  so 
pronounced  as  to  be  un-English  •  on  the  other  hand, 
there  is  such  affinity  between  the  simple  strength  of 
the  Homeric  Greek  and  that  of  the  English  in  which 
Saxon  words  prevail,  that  the  former  can  be  rendered 
into  the  latter  with  great  effect.  Tennyson  recognizes 
this  in  his  prelude  to  "Morte  d'Arthur,"  deprecating 
his  heroics  as  "faint  Homeric  echoes,  nothing- worth." 
But  almost  with  the  perusal  of  the  first  two  lines, 

"  So  all  day  long  the  noise  of  battle  roll'd 
Among  the  mountains  by  the  winter  sea," 

we  see  that  this  style  surpasses  other  blank-verse  in 
strength  and  condensation.  It  soon  became  the 
model  for  a  score  of  younger  aspirants ;  in  short, 
impressed  itself  upon  the  artistic  mind  as  a  new  and 
vigorous  form  of  our  grandest  English  measure. 

K 


Originality 
and  perfec 
tion  of  Ten 
nyson's 
blank-verse. 

"  Morte 
d'Arthur." 


Homeric 
and  Saxon 
qualities. 


1 62 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


The  Victo 
rian  idyllic 
verse. 


Crabbe. 


'  Dora." 


"Godiva." 

"  The  Gar 
dener's 
Daughter." 


"Ulysses." 


Comprehen 
sive  range 
of  "  English 
Idyls  and 
Other 
Poems." 


"  The  Talk 
ing  Oak." 


The  other  style  of  Tennyson's  blank-verse  is  found 
in  his  purely  idyllic  pieces, — "The  Gardener's  Daugh 
ter,"  "Dora,"  "Godiva,"  and,  upon  a  lower  plane, 
such  eclogues  as  "  Audley  Court "  and  "  Edwin  Mor 
ris."  "  St.  Simeon  Stylites  "  and  "  Ulysses  "  have  each 
a  special  manner.  In  the  first-named  group,  the  poet 
brought  to  completeness  the  Victorian  idyllic  verse. 
The  three  are  models  from  which  he  could  not  ad 
vance  :  in  surpassing  beauty  and  naturalness  une 
qualled,  I  say,  by  many  of  his  later  efforts.  What 
Crabbe  essayed  in  a  homely  fashion,  now,  at  the 
touch  of  a  finer  artist,  became  the  perfection  of  rural, 
idyllic  tenderness.  "  Dora "  is  like  a  Hebrew  pasto 
ral,  the  paragon  of  its  kind,  with  not  a  quotable  de 
tail,  a  line  too  much  or  too  little,  but  faultless  as  a 
whole.  Who  can  read  it  without  tears  ?  "  Godiva " 
and  "The  Gardener's  Daughter"  demand  no  less 
praise  for  descriptive  felicity  of  another  kind.  But, 
for  virile  grandeur  and  astonishingly  compact  expres 
sion,  there  is  no  blank-verse  poem,  equally  restricted 
as  to  length,  that  approaches  the  "  Ulysses  " :  concep 
tion,  imagery,  and  thought  are  royally  imaginative, 
and  the  assured  hand  is  Tennyson's  throughout. 

I  reserve  for  later  discussion  the  poet's  general 
characteristics,  fairly  displayed  in  this  volume.  The 
great  feature  is  its  comprehensive  range;  it  includes 
a  finished  specimen  of  every  kind  of  poetry  within 
the  author's  power  to  essay.  The  variety  is  surpris 
ing,  and  the  novelty  was  no  less  so  at  the  date  of 
its  appearance.  Here  is  "The  Talking  Oak,"  that 
marvel  of  grace  and  fancy,  the  nonpareil  of  sustained 
lyrics  in  quatrain  verse ;  as  exquisite  in  filigree-work 
as  "The  Rape  of  the  Lock,"  with  an  airy  beauty  and 
rippling  flow,  compared  with  which  the  motion  of 


ENGLISH  IDYLS  AND   OTHER   POEMS.' 


163 


Pope's  couplets  is  that  of  partners  in  an  eighteenth- 
century  minuet.  Here  is  the  modern  lover  reciting 
"Locksley  Hall,"  which,  despite  its  sentimental  ego 
tism  and  consolation  of  the  heart  by  the  head,  has 
fine  metrical  quality,  is  fixed  in  literature,  and  fur 
nishes  genuine  illustrations  of  the  poet's  time.  In 
"The  Two  Voices"  and  "The  Vision  of  Sin"  the 
excess  of  his  speculative  intellect  makes  itself  felt: 
but  the  second  of  these  seems  to  me  a  strained  and 
fantastic  production  ;  for  which  very  reason,  perchance, 
it  drew  the  attention  of  semi-metaphysical  persons 
who  have  no  perception  of  the  true  mission  of  poetry, 
and,  by  a  certain  affectation,  mistaken  for  subtilty, 
has  excited  more  comment  and  analysis  than  it  de 
serves.  "  The  Day-Dream,"  like  "  The  Talking  Oak," 
gives  the  poet  an  opportunity  for  dying  falls,  melliflu 
ous  cadences,  and  delicately  fanciful  pictures.  The 
story  is  made  to  his  hand ;  he  rarely  invents  a  story, 
though  often,  as  in  the  last-named  poem,  chancing 
upon  the  conceit  of  a  dainty  and  original  theme. 
Here,  too,  are  "Lady  Clare,"  "The  Lord  of  Bur- 
leigh,"  and  "  Edward  Gray,"  each  a  simple,  crystal 
line,  and  flawless  ballad.  Nor  has  Tennyson  ever 
composed,  in  his  minor  key,  more  enduring  and  sug 
gestive  little  songs  than  "  Break,  break,  break ! "  and 
"  Flow  down,  cold  Rivulet,  to  the  Sea ! "  both,  also,  in 
this  volume.  His  humor,  which  seldom  becomes  him, 
is  at  its  best  in  that  half-pensive,  half-rollicking, 
wholly  poetic  composition,  dear  to  wits  and  dreamers, 
"  Will  Waterproof 's  Lyrical  Monologue."  In  this  col 
lection,  too,  we  find  his  early  experiments  in  the  now 
famous  measure  of  "  In  Memoriam."  Purest  and 
highest  of  all  the  lyrical  pieces  are  "  St.  Agnes "  and 
"  Sir  Galahad,"  full  of  white  light,  and  each  a  stain- 


1 64 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


A  composite 
and  influen 
tial  volume. 


Climacterics 
in  art. 


"  The 

Princess:  a 
Medley^ 
1847. 


A  romantic 
composition. 


less  idealization  of  its  theme.  "  Sir  Galahad "  must 
be  recited  by  a  clarion  voice,  ere  one  can  fully  appre 
ciate  the  sounding  melody,  the  knightly,  heroic  ring. 
The  poet  has  never  chanted  a  more  ennobling  strain. 

Such  is  the  excellence,  and  such  the  unusual  range 
of  a  volume  in  which  every  department  of  poetry, 
except  the  dramatic,  is  exhibited  in  great  perfection, 
if  not  at  the  most  imaginative  height.  To  the  au 
thor's  students  it  is  a  favorite  among  his  books,  as 
the  one  that  fairly  represents  his  composite  genius. 
It  powerfully  affected  the  rising  group  of  poets,  giv 
ing  their  work  a  tendency  which  established  its  gen 
eral  character  for  the  ensuing  thirty  years. 

There  comes  a  time  in  the  life  of  every  aspiring 
artist,  when,  if  he  be  a  painter,  he  tires  of  painting 
cabinet-pictures,  —  however  much  they  satisfy  his  ad 
mirers  ;  if  a  poet,  he  says  to  himself :  "  Enough  of 
lyrics  and  idyls  ;  let  me  essay  a  masterpiece,  a  sus 
tained  production,  that  shall  bear  to  my  former  work 
the  relation  which  an  opera  or  oratorio  bears  to  a 
composer's  sonatas  and  canzonets."  It  may  be  that 
some  feeling  of  this  kind  impelled  Tennyson  to  write 
The  Princess,  the  theme  and  story  of  which  are  both 
his  own  invention.  At  that  time  he  had  not  learned 
the  truth  of  Emerson's  maxim  that  "  Tradition  sup 
plies  a  better  fable  than  any  invention  can "  ;  and 
that  it  is  as  well  for  a  poet  to  borrow  from  history 
or  romance  a  tale  made  ready  to  his  hands,  and 
which  his  genius  must  transfigure.  The  poem  is,  as 
he  entitled  it,  "  A  Medley,"  constructed  of  ancient 
and  modern  materials,  —  a  show  of  mediaeval  pomp 
and  movement,  observed  through  an  atmosphere  of 
latter-day  thought  and  emotion ;  so  varying,  withal, 
in  the  scenes  and  language  of  its  successive  parts, 


THE  PRINCESS.' 


I65 


that  one  may  well  conceive  it  to  be  told  by  the  group 
of  thoroughbred  men  and  maidens  who,  one  after 
another,  rehearse  its  cantos  to  beguile  a  festive  sum 
mer's  day.  I  do  not  sympathize  with  the  criticisms 
to  which  it  has  been  subjected  upon  this  score,  and 
which  is  but  the  old  outcry  of  the  French  classicists 
against  Victor  Hugo  and  the  romance  school.  The 
poet,  in  his  prelude,  anticipates  every  stricture,  and 
to  me  the  anachronisms  and  impossibilities  of  the 
story  seem  not  only  lawful,  but  attractive.  Like  those 
of  Shakespeare's  comedies,  they  invite  the  reader 
off-hand  to  a  purely  ideal  world ;  he  seats  himself 
upon  an  English  lawn,  as  upon  a  Persian  enchanted 
carpet,  —  hears  the  mystic  word  pronounced,  and, 
presto !  finds  himself  in  fairy-land.  Moreover,  Ten 
nyson's  special  gift  of  reducing  incongruous  details 
to  a  common  structure  and  tone  is  fully  illustrated 
in  a  poem  made 

"to  suit  with  Time  and  place, 
A  Gothic  ruin  and  a  Grecian  house, 
A  talk  of  college  and  of  ladies'  rights, 
A  feudal  knight  in  silken  masquerade. 

This  were  a  medley  !  we  should  have  him  back 
Who  told  the  '  Winter's  Tale '  to  do  it  for  us." 

But  not  often  has  a  lovelier  story  been  recited.  After 
the  idyllic  introduction,  the  body  of  the  poem  is 
composed  in  a  semi-heroic  verse.  Other  works  of  our 
poet  are  greater,  but  none  is  so  fascinating  as  this 
romantic  tale  :  English  throughout,  yet  combining  the 
England  of  Cceur  de  Leon  with  that  of  Victoria  in 
one  bewitching  picture.  Some  of  the  author's  most 
delicately  musical  lines  —  "  jewels  five  words  long  " 


166 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


—  are  herein  contained,  and  the  ending  of  each  canto 
is  an  effective  piece  of  art. 

The  tournament  scene,  at  the  close  of  the  fifth 
book,  is  the  most  vehement  and  rapid  passage  to  be 
found  in  the  whole  range  of  Tennyson's  poetry.  By 
an  approach  to  the  Homeric  swiftness,  it  presents  a 
contrast  to  the  laborious  and  faulty  movement  of 
much  of  his  narrative  verse.  The  songs,  added  in 
the  second  edition  of  this  poem,  reach  the  high-water 
mark  of  lyrical  composition.  Few  will  deny  that, 
taken  together,  the  five  melodies  :  "  As  through  the 
land,"  "Sweet  and  low,"  "The  splendor  falls  on 
castle  walls,"  "  Home  they  brought  her  warrior  dead," 
and  "  Ask  me  no  more  !  "  —  that  these  constitute  the 
finest  group  of  songs  produced  in  our  century ;  and 
the  third,  known  as  the  "  Bugle  Song,"  seems  to  many 
the  most  perfect  English  lyric  since  the  time  of  Shake 
speare.  In  "  The  Princess  "  we  also  find  Tennyson's 
most  successful  studies  upon  the  model  of  the  The- 
ocritan  isometric  verse.  He  was  the  first  to  enrich 
our  poetry  with  this  class  of  melodies,  for  the  bur 
lesque  pastorals  of  the  eighteenth  century  need  not 
be  considered.  Not  one  of  the  blank-verse  songs  in 
his  Arthurian  epic  equals  in  structure  or  feeling  the 
"  Tears,  idle  tears,"  and  "  O  swallow,  swallow,  flying, 
flying  south ! "  Again,  what  witchery  of  landscape 
and  action  ;  what  fair  women  and  brave  men,  who, 
if  they  be  somewhat  stagy  and  traditional,  at  least 
are  more  sharply  defined  than  the  actors  in  our  poet's 
other  romances  !  Besides,  "  The  Princess  "  has  a  dis 
tinct  purpose,  —  the  illustration  of  woman's  struggles, 
aspirations,  and  proper  sphere ;  and  the  conclusion 
is  one  wherewith  the  instincts  of  cultured  people  are 
so  thoroughly  in  accord,  that  some  are  used  to  an- 


HIS  INTELLECTUAL   GROWTH. 


I67 


swer,  when  asked  to  present  their  view  of  the  "wo 
man  question,"  "  You  will  find  it  at  the  close  of 
1  The  Princess.' "  Those  who  disagree  with  Tenny 
son's  presentation  acknowledge  that  if  it  be  not  true 
it  is  well  told.  His  Ida  is,  in  truth,  a  beautiful  and 
heroic  figure  :  — 

"  She  bow'd  as  if  to  veil  a  noble  tear. 

Not  peace  she  looked,  the  Head  :  but  rising  up 
Robed  in  the  long  night  of  her  deep  hair,  so 
To  the  open  window  moved. 
.     '   .         .         She  stretched  her  arms  and  call'd 
Across  the  tumult  and  the  tumult  fell." 

Of  the  author's  shortcomings  in  this  and  other  poems 
we  have  to  speak  hereafter.  I  leave  "  The  Princess," 
deeming  it  the  most  varied  and  interesting  of  his 
works  with  respect  to  freshness  and  invention.  All 
mankind  love  a  story-teller  such  as  Tennyson,  by  this 
creation,  proved  himself  to  be. 

In  the  youth  of  poets  it  is  the  material  value  of 
their  work  that  makes  it  precious,  and  for  certain 
gifts  of  language  and  color  we  esteem  one  more 
highly  than  another.  When  a  sweet  singer  dies  pre 
maturely,  we  lament  his  loss  ;  but  in  a  poet's  later 
years  character  and  intellect  begin  to  tell.  His  other 
gifts  being  equal,  he  who  has  the  more  vigorous  mind 
will  draw  ahead  of  his  fellows,  and  take  the  front 
position.  Tennyson,  like  Browning  and  Arnold,  has 
that  which  Keats  was  bereft  of,  and  which  Wordsworth, 
Landor,  and  Procter  possessed  in  full  measure,  —  the 
gift  of  years,  and  must  be  judged  according  to  his 
fortune.  In  mental  ability  he  comes  near  to  the 
greatest  of  the  five,  and  in  synthetic  grasp  surpasses 
them  all.  Arnold's  thought  is  wholly  included  in 


Woman's 
Rights. 


Tennyson's 
intellectual 
growth  and 
advantage. 


1 68 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


The  prime 
of  life. 


"/«  Memo- 
riam"  1850. 


His  most 
•unique  and 
distinctive 
production. 


Elegiac 
waxier- 
pieces. 


This  poem 
the  greatest 
of  them  all. 


Tennyson ;  if  you  miss  Browning's  psychology,  you 
find  a  more  varied  analysis,  qualified  by  wise  restraint. 
His  intellectual  growth  has  steadily  progressed,  and 
is  reflected  in  the  nature  of  his  successive  poems. 

At  the  age  of  forty  a  man,  blessed  with  a  sound 
mind  in  a  sound  body,  should  reach  the  maturity  of 
his  intellectual  power.  At  such  a  period  Tennyson 
produced  In  Memoriam,  his  most  characteristic  and 
significant  work :  not  so  ambitious  as  his  epic  of 
King  Arthur,  but  more  distinctively  a  poem  of  this 
century,  and  displaying  the  author's  genius  in  a  sub 
jective  form.  In  it  are  concentrated  his  wisest  re 
flections  upon  life,  death,  and  immortality,  the  worlds 
within  and  without,  while  the  whole  song  is  so  largely 
uttered,  and  so  pervaded  with  the  singer's  manner, 
that  any  isolated  line  is  recognized  at  once.  This 
work  stands  by  itself :  none  can  essay  another  upon 
its  model,  without  yielding  every  claim  to  personality 
and  at  the  risk  of  an  inferiority  that  would  be  ap 
palling.  The  strength  of  Tennyson's  intellect  has  full 
sweep  in  this  elegiac  poem,  —  the  great  threnody  of 
our  language,  by  virtue  of  unique  conception  and 
power.  "  Lycidas,"  with  its  primrose  beauty  and 
varied  lofty  flights,  is  but  the  extension  of  a  theme 
set  by  Moschus  and  Bion.  Shelley,  in  "  Adonais," 
despite  his  spiritual  ecstasy  and  splendor  of  lament, 
followed  the  same  masters,  —  yes,  and  took  his  land 
scape  and  imagery  from  distant  climes.  Swinburne's 
dirge  for  Baudelaire  is  a  wonder  of  melody  ;  nor  do 
we  forget  the  "  Thyrsis  "  of  Arnold,  and  other  modern 
ventures  in  a  direction  where  the  sweet  and  absolute 
solemnity  of  the  Saxon  tongue  is  most  apparent. 
Still,  as  an  original  and  intellectual  production,  "  In 
Memoriam "  is  beyond  them  all :  and  a  more  impor- 


IN  MEMORIAM: 


169 


tant,  though  possibly  no  more  enduring,  creation  of 
rhythmic  art 

The  metrical  form  of  this  work  deserves  attention. 
The  author's  choice  of  the  transposed-quatrain  verse 
was  a  piece  of  good  fortune.  Its  hymnal  quality, 
finely  exemplified  in  the  opening  prayer,  is  always 
impressive,  and,  although  a  monotone,  no  more  mo 
notonous  than  the  sounds  of  nature,  —  the  murmur 
of  ocean,  the  soughing  of  the  mountain  pines.  Were 
"  In  Memoriam "  written  in  direct  quatrains,  I  think 
the  effect  would  grow  to  be  unendurable.  The  work 
as  a  whole  is  built  up  of  successive  lyrics,  each  ex 
pressing  a  single  phase  of  the  poet's  sorrow-brooding 
thought ;  and  here  again  is  followed  the  method  of 
nature,  which  evolves  cell  after  cell,  and,  joining  each 
to  each,  constructs  the  sentient  organization.  But 
Tennyson's  art-instincts  are  always  perfect  j  he  does 
the  fitting  thing,  and  rarely  seeks  through  eccentric 
and  curious  movements  to  attract  the  popular  regard. 

As  to  scenery,  imagery,  and  general  treatment,  "  In 
Memoriam  "  is  eminently  a  British  poem.  The  grave,? 
majestic,  hymnal  measure  swells  like  the  peal  of  anf 
organ,  yet  acts  as  a  brake  on  undue  spasmodic  out 
bursts  of  discordant  grief.  A  steady,  yet  varying 
marche  funebre ;  a  sense  of  passion  held  in  check,  of 
reserved  elegiac  power.  For  the  strain  is  everywhere 
calm,  even  in  rehearsing  a  bygone  violence  of  emo 
tion,  along  its  passage  from  woe  to  desolation,  and 
anon,  by  tranquil  stages,  to  reverence,  thought,  aspira 
tion,  endurance,  hope.  On  sea  and  shore  the  ele 
ments  are  calm ;  even  the  wild  winds  and  snows  of 
winter  are  brought  in  hand,  and  made  subservient,  as 
the  bells  ring  out  the  dying  year,  to  the  new  birth  of 
Nature  and  the  sure  purpose  of  eternal  God. 


Its  metrical 
and  stanzaic 
arrange 
ment. 


A  thorough- 
ly  national 
poem. 


Rhythmic 
grandeur 
and  solem 
nity. 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


Critical  objections  are  urged  against  "In  Memo- 
riam "  -}  mostly,  in  my  opinion,  such  as  more  fitly 
apply  to  poems  upon  a  lower  grade.  It  is  said  to 
present  a  confusion  of  religion  and  skepticism,  an 
attempt  to  reconcile  faith  and  knowledge,  to  blend 
the  feeling  of  Dante  with  that  of  Lucretius ;  but,  if 
this  be  so,  the  author  only  follows  the  example  of 
his  generation,  and  the  more  faithfully  gives  voice  to  \ 
its  spiritual  questionings.  Even  here  he  is  accused 
of  "  idealizing  the  thoughts  of  his  contemporaries " ; 
to  which  we  rejoin,  in  the  words  of  another,  "  that 
great  writers  do  not  anticipate  the  thought  of  their 
age; "they  but  anticipate  its  expression."  His  scien 
tific  language  and  imagery  are  censured  also,  but  do 
not  his  efforts  in  this  direction,  tentative  as  they  are, 
constitute  a  special  merit?  Failing,  as  others  have,  to 
reconcile  poetry  and  metaphysics,  he  succeeds  better 
in  speculations  inspired  by  the  revelations  of  lens 
and  laboratory.  Why  should  not  such  facts  be  taken 
into  account?  The  phenomenal  stage  of  art  is  pass 
ing  away,  and  all  things,  even  poetic  diction  and 
metaphor,  must  endure  a  change.  It  is  absurd  to 
think  that  a  man  like  Tennyson  will  rest  content  with 
ignoring  or  misstating  what  has  become  every-day 
knowledge.  The  spiritual  domain  is  still  the  poet's 
own  j  but  let  his  illustrations  be  derived  from  living 
truths,  rather  than  from  the  worn  and  ancient  fables 
of  the  pastoral  age.  A  certain  writer  declares  that 
Tennyson  shows  sound  sense  instead  of  imaginative 
power.  Not  only  sense,  methinks,  but  "  the  sanity 
of  true  genius " ;  and  the  Strephon-and-Chloe  singers 
must  change  their  tune,  or  be  left  without  a  hearing. 
A  charge  requiring  more  serious  consideration  is  that 
the  sorrow  of  "  In  Memoriam  "  is  but  food  for  thought, 


'IN  ME  MORI  AM: 


171 


a  passion  of  the  head,  not  of  the  heart.  The  poet, 
however,  has  reached  a  philosophical  zenith  of  his 
life,  far  above  ignoble  weakness,  and  performs  the 
office  which  an  enfranchised  spirit  might  well  require 
of  him ;  building  a  mausoleum  of  immortal  verse,  — 
conceiving  his  friend  as  no  longer  dead,  but  as  hav 
ing  solved  the  mysteries  they  so  often  have  discussed 
together.  If  there  is  didacticism  in  the  poem,  it  is  a 
teaching  which  leads  ad  astra,  by  a  path  strictly  within 
the  province  of  an  elegiac  minstrel's  song. 

For  the  rest,  "In  Memoriam"  is  a  serene  and 
truthful  panorama  of  refined  experiences ;  filled  with 
pictures  of  gentle,  scholastic  life,  and  of  English 
scenery  through  all  the  changes  of  a  rolling  year ; 
expressing,  moreover,  the  thoughts  engendered  by 
these  changes.  When  too  sombre,  it  is  lightened  by 
sweet  reminiscences ;  when  too  light,  recalled  to  grief 
by  stanzas  that  have  the  deep  solemnity  of  a  passing 
bell.  Among  its  author's  productions  it  is  the  one 
most  valued  by  educated  and  professional  readers. 
Recently,  a  number  of  authors  having  been  asked 
to  name  three  leading  poems  of  this  century  which 
they  would  most  prefer  to  have  written,  each  gave 
"  In  Memoriam "  either  the  first  or  second  place 
upon  his  list.  Obviously  it  is  not  a  work  to  read 
at  a  sitting,  nor  to  take  up  in  every  mood,  but  one 
in  which  we  are  sure  to  find  something  of  worth  in 
every  stanza.  It  contains  more  notable  sayings  than 
any  other  of  Tennyson's  poems.  The  wisdom,  yearn 
ings,  and  aspirations  of  a  noble  mind  are  here;  curi 
ous  reasoning,  for  once,  is  not  out  of  place ;  the  poet's 
imagination,  shut  in  upon  itself,  strives  to  irradiate 
with  inward  light  the  mystic  problems  of  life.  At 
the  close,  Nature's  eternal  miracle  is  made  symbolic 


Wisdom 
spiritualized 
by  grief. 


General 
quality  of 
this  noble 
poem. 


A  dmired  by 
men  of  let' 
ten. 


172 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


Poet-Larire- 
ate  of  Eng 
land,  Nov. 
21,  1850. 


The  Wei- 
ling  ton  Ode. 


Forced  qual 
ity  of  his 
occasional 
pieces. 


of  the  soul's  palingenesis,  and  the  tender  and  beau 
tiful  marriage-lay  tranquillizes  the  reader  with  the 
thought  of  the  dear  common  joys  which  are  the  heri 
tage  of  every  living  kind. 


III. 

IN  the  year  1850  Tennyson  received  the  laurel, 
and  almost  immediately  was  called  upon  by  the 
national  sentiment  to  exercise  the  functions  of  his 
poetic  office.  The  "Ode  on  the  Death  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  "  was  the  first,  and  remains  the  most 
ambitious,  of  his  patriotic  lyrics.  This  tribute  to  the 
"  last  great  Englishman "  may  fairly  be  pronounced 
equal  to  the  occasion  ;  a  respectable  performance  for 
Tennyson,  a  strong  one  for  another  poet.  None  but 
a  great  artist  could  have  written  it,  yet  it  scarcely 
is  a  great  poem,  and  certainly,  though  Tennyson's 
most  important  ode,  is  not  comparable  with  his  pred 
ecessor's  lofty  discourse  upon  the  "  Intimations  of 
Immortality."  Several  passages  have  become  folk- 
words,  such  as  "  O  good  gray  head  which  all  men 
knew  !  "  and 

"  This  is  England's  greatest  son,  — 
He  that  gain'd  a  hundred  fights, 
Nor  ever  lost  an  English  gun !  " 

but  the  ode,  upon  the  whole,  is  labored,  built  up  of 
high-sounding  lines  and  refrains  after  the  manner 
of  Dryden,  in  which  rhetoric  often  is  substituted  for 
imagination  and  richness  of  thought. 

The  Laureate  never  has   been  at  ease  in   handling 

O 

events  of  the  day.  To  his  brooding  and  essentially 
poetic  nature  such  matters  seem  of  no  more  moment, 
beside  the  mysteries  of  eternal  beauty  and  truth, 


<MAUD,  AND   OTHER  POEMS? 


173 


than  was  the  noise  of  catapults  and  armed  men  to 
Archimedes  studying  out  problems  during  the  city's 
siege.  If  he  succeeds  at  all  with  them,  it  is  by 
sheer  will  and  workmanship.  Even  then  his  voice 
is  hollow,  and  his  didacticism,  as  in  "  Maud,"  arti 
ficial  and  insincere.  The  laurel,  and  the  fame  which 
now  had  come  to  him,  seemed  for  a  time  to  bring 
him  more  in  sympathy  with  his  countrymen,  and  he 
made  an  honest  endeavor  to  rehearse  their  achieve 
ments  in  his  song.  The  result,  seen  in  the  volume 
Maud,  and  Other  Poems,  illustrates  what  I  say.  Here 
are  contained  his  prominent  occasional  pieces,  "The 
Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,"  the  Wellington  ode, 
and  the  metrical  romance  from  which  the  volume 
takes  its  name.  After  several  revisions,  the  Balak- 
lavan  lyric  has  passed  into  literature,  but  ranks 
below  the  nobler  measures  of  Drayton  and  Campbell. 
"Maud,"  however,  with  its  strength  and  weakness, 
has  divided  public  opinion  more  than  any  other  of 
the  author's  works.  I  think  that  his  judicious 
students  will  not  demur  to  my  opinion  that  it  is 
quite  below  his  other  sustained  productions  ;  rather, 
that  it  is  not  sustained  at  all,  but,  while  replete 
with  beauties,  weak  and  uneven  as  a  whole,  —  and 
that  this  is  due  to  the  poet's  having  gone  outside 
his  own  nature,  and  to  his  surrender  of  the  joy  of 
art,  in  an  effort  to  produce  something  that  should 
at  once  catch  the  favor  of  the  multitude.  "Maud" 
is  scanty  in  theme,  thin  in  treatment,  poor  in 
thought ;  but  has  musical  episodes,  with  much  fine 
scenery  and  diction.  It  is  a  greater  medley  than 
"The  Princess,"  shifting  from  vague  speculations  to 
passionate  outbreaks,  and  glorying  in  one  famous 
and  beautiful  nocturne,  —  but  all  intermixed  with 


174 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


cheap  satire,  and  conspicuous  for  affectations  un 
worthy  of  the  poet.  The  pity  of  it  was  that  this 
production  appeared  when  Tennyson  suddenly  had 
become  fashionable,  in  England  and  America,  through 
his  accession  to  the  laureate's  honors,  and  for  this 
reason,  as  well  as  for  its  theme  and  eccentric  qual 
ities,  had  a  wider  reading  than  his  previous  works  : 
not  only  among  the  masses,  to  whom  the  other  vol 
umes  had  been  sealed  books,  but  among  thoughtful 
people,  who  now  first  made  the  poet's  acquaintance 
and  received  "  Maud "  as  the  foremost  example  of 
his  style.  First  impressions  are  lasting,  and  to  this 
day  Tennyson  is  deemed,  by  many  of  the  latter 
class,  an  apostle  of  tinsel  and  affectation.  In  our 
own  country  especially,  his  popular  reputation  began 
with  "  Maud,"  —  a  work  which,  for  lack  of  construc 
tive  beauty,  is  the  opposite  of  his  other  narrative 
poems. 

A  pleasing  feature  of  the  volume  of  1855  was  an 
idyl,  "  The  Brook,"  which  is  charmingly  finished  and 
contains  a  swift  and  rippling  inter-lyric  delightful  to 
every  reader.  A  winsome,  novel  stanzaic  form,  possi 
bly  of  the  Laureate's  own  invention,  is  to  be  found 
in  "  The  Daisy,"  and  in  the  Horatian  lines  to  his 
friend  Maurice.  Here,  too,  is  much  of  that  felicitous 
word-painting  for  which  he  is  deservedly  renowned :  — 

"  O  Milan,  O  the  chanting  quires, 
The  giant  windows'  blazon'd  fires, 

The  height,  the  space,  the  gloom,  the  glory  ! 
A  mount  of  marble,  a  hundred  spires  ! 

"  How  faintly-flush'd,  how  phantom-fair, 
Was  Monte  Rosa,  hanging  there 

A  thousand  shadowy-pencill'd  valleys 
And  snowy  dells  in  a  golden  air." 


IDYLS  OF  THE  KING: 


175 


We    come    at    last    to    Tennyson's   master-work,    so 
recently  brought   to    a   completion    after  the  labor 
twenty    years,  —  during    which    period    the     separate 
Idyls  of  the  King  had    appeared   from    time   to   time 
Nave  and  transept,  aisle  after  aisle,  the  Gothic   min 
ster  has  extended,  until,  with  the  addition  of  a  cloister 
here  and  a  chapel  yonder,  the  structure  stands  com 
plete.     I  hardly  think  that  the  poet  at  first  expected 
to  compose  an  epic.     It  has  grown  insensibly,  under 
the   hands   of  cine    man    who   has   given   it   the    best 
years  of  his  life,  —  but  somewhat  as  Wolf  conceivec 
the   Homeric  poems  to  have  grown,  chant  by  chant, 
until  the  time  came  for  the  whole  to  be  welded  to 
gether   in  heroic  form.     Yet  in  other  great  epics  the 
action  rarely  ceases,  the  links  are  connected,  and  the 
movement  continues  from  day  to  day  until  the  end. 
Here,  we  have  a  series  of  idyls,  —  like  the  tapestry- 
work  illustrations  of  a  romance,  scene  after  scene,  with 
much  change  of  actors  and  emotions,  yet  all  leading 
to  one   solemn    and   tragic   close.     It   is   the   epic   of 
chivalry,  -—  the    Christian  ideal   of  chivalry  which   we 
have  deduced  from   a  barbaric  source,  —  our  concep 
tion  of  what  knighthood  should  be,  rather  than  what 
it  really  was ;    but  so  skilfully  wrought  of  high  imag 
inings,    faery  spells,  fantastic   legends,   and   mediaeval 
splendors,    that    the    whole   work,    suffused    with    the 
Tennysonian   glamour   of   golden  mist,   seems   like   a 
chronicle    illuminated    by    saintly    hands,    and    often 
blazes   with   light   like   that    which   flashed    from    the 
holy  wizard's  book  when  the  covers  were  unclasped. 
And,  indeed,    if    this   be   not    the   greatest    narrative- 
poem    since    "  Paradise    Lost,"    what    other    English 
production    are    you    to    name    in    its    place  ?     Never 
so    lofty    as   the   grander    portions    of    Milton's    epic, 


"Idyls  of 
the  King," 
1859-72. 


A  n  epic  of 
ideal  chiv- 
ilry. 


1 76 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


Malory's 
"Le  Morte 
Darthurt" 
1485. 


Tennyson  a 
Pre-Raph 
aelite  in 
youth. 


His  love  of 
allegory. 


it  is  more  evenly  sustained  and  has  no  long  prosaic 
passages ;  while  "  Paradise  Lost "  is  justly  declared 
to  be  a  work  of  superhuman  genius  impoverished  by 
dreary  wastes  of  theology. 

Tennyson  early  struck  a  vein  in  the  black-letter 
compilation  of  Sir  Thomas  Malory.  A  tale  was 
already  fashioned  to  his  use,  from  which  to  derive 
his  legends  and  exalt  them  with  whatsoever  spiritual 
meanings  they  might  require.  The  picturesque  qual 
ities  of  the  old  Anglo-Breton  romance  fascinated  his 
youth,  and  found  lyrical  expression  in  the  weird, 
melodious,  Pre-Raphaelite  ballad  of  "  The  Lady  of 
Shalott."  The  young  poet  here  attained  great  ex 
cellence  in  a  walk  which  Rossetti  and  his  pupils 
have  since  chosen  for  their  own,  and  his  early 
studies  are  on  a  level  with  some  of  their  master 
pieces.  Until  recently,  they  have  made  success  in 
this  direction  a  special  aim,  while  Tennyson  would 
not  be  restricted  even  to  such  attractive  work,  but 
went  steadily  on,  claiming  the  entire  field  of  im 
aginative  research  as  the  poet's  own. 

His  strong  allegorical  bent,  evinced  in  that  early 
lyric,  was  heightened  by  analysis  of  the  Arthurian 
legends.  The  English  caught  this  tendency,  long 
since,  from  the  Italians ;  the  Elizabethan  era  was 
so  charged  with  it,  that  the  courtiers  of  the  Virgin 
Queen  hardly  could  speak  without  a  mystical  double- 
meaning,  —  for  an  illustration  of  which  read  the 
dialogue  in  certain  portions  of  Kingsley's  "  Amyas 
Leigh."  From  Sidney  and  Spenser  down  to  plain  John 
Bunyan,  and  even  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  allegory  is  a 
natural  English  mode  ;  and,  while  adopted  in  several 
of  Tennyson's  pieces,  it  finds  a  special  development 
in  the  "Idyls  of  the  King." 


IDYLS  OF  THE  KING: 


177 


The  name  thus  bestowed  upon  the  early  instal 
ments  of  this  production  seems  less  adapted  to  its 
complete  form.  Like  the  walls  of  Troy,  it 

"  Rose  slowly  to  a  music  slowly  breathed, 
A  cloud  that  gathered  shape." 

The  shape  no  longer  is  idyllic,  and  doubt  no  longer 
exists  whether  a  successful  epic  can  be  written  in  a 
mature  period  of  national  literature.  We  have  one 
here,  but  subdivided  into  ten  distinct  poems,  each 
of  which  suits  the  canonical  requirement,  and  may 
be  read  at  a  single  sitting. 

To  my  mind,  there  is  a  marked  difference  in  style 
between  the  original  and  later  portions  of  this  work. 
The  "  Morte  d' Arthur "  of  1842  is  Homeric  to  the 
farthest  degree  possible  in  the  slow,  Saxon  move 
ment  of  the  verse ;  grander,  with  its  "  hollow  oes 
and  aes,"  than  any  succeeding  canto,  always  except 
ing  "  Guinevere."  Nor  do  I  think  the  later  idyls 
equal  to  those  four  which  first  were  issued  in  one 
volume,  and  which  so  cleared  the  Laureate's  fame 
from  the  doubts  suggested  by  "  Maud,  and  Other 
Poems."  "Vivien"  is  a  bold  and  subtle  analysis, 
a  closer  study  of  certain  human  types  than  Tenny 
son  is  wont  to  make.  "  Elaine "  still  remains,  for 
pathetic  sweetness  and  absolute  beauty  of  narrative 
and  rhythm,  dearest  to  the  heart  of  maiden,  youth, 
or  sage.  "  Enid,"  while  upon  the  lower  level  of 
"Pelleas  and  Ettarre "  and  "  Gareth  and  Lynette," 
is  clear  and  strong,  and  shows  a  freedom  from 
mannerism  characteristic  of  the  author's  best  period. 
It  would  seem  that  his  creative  vigor  reached  its 
height  during  the  composition  of  these  four  idyls ; 
certainly,  since  the  production  of  "  Enoch  Arden," 
8*  L 


Distinction 
between  the 
early  and 
later  blank- 


"  Vivien.^ 


"Elaine." 


Enid." 

Pelleas 
and  Et- 
'arre." 


173 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


"  Guine 
vere  "  the 
Laureate's 
most  dra 
matic  and 
imaginative 
"work. 


"  The  Pass 
ing  of  Ar 
thur." 


at  an  early  subsequent  date,  he  has  not  advanced  in 
freshness  and  imagination.  His  greatest  achievement 
still  is  that  noblest  of  modern  episodes,  the  canto 
entitled  "  Guinevere,"  surcharged  with  tragic  pathos 
and  high  dramatic  power.  He  never  has  so  reached 
the  passio  vera  of  the  early  dramatists  as  in  this  im 
posing  scene.  There  is  nothing  finer  in  modern  verse 
than  the  interview  between  Arthur  and  his  remorseful 
wife;  nothing  loftier  than  the  passage  beginning  — 

"  Lo  !  I  forgive  thee,  as  Eternal  God 
Forgives  :  do  thou  for  thine  own  soul  the  rest. 
But  how  to  take  last  leave  of  all  I  loved  ? 

0  golden  hair,  with  which  I  used  to  play 
Not  knowing  !     O  imperial-moulded  form, 
And  beauty  such  as  never  woman  wore, 
Until  it  came  a  kingdom's  curse  with  thee  — 

1  cannot  touch  thy  lips,  they  are  not  mine, 

But  Lancelot's  :  nay,  they  never  were  the  King's." 

When  this  idyl  first  appeared,  what  elevation  seized 
upon  the  soul  of  every  poetic  aspirant  as  he  read 
it !  What  despair  of  rivalling  a  passion  so  imagina 
tive,  an  art  so  majestic  and  supreme ! 

I  have  referred  to  the  Homeric  manner  of  the 
fragment  now  made  the  conclusion  of  the  epic,  and 
entitled  "The  Passing  of  Arthur."  The  magnificent 
battle-piece,  by  which  it  is  here  preluded,  is  so  dif 
ferent  in  manner  from  the  original  "  Morte  d'Arthur," 
that  both  are  injured  by  their  juxtaposition.  The 
canto,  moreover,  plainly  weakens  at  the  close.  The 
epic  properly  ends  with  the  line, 

"And  on  the  mere  the  wailing  died  away." 
The   poet's    sense   of    proportion    here    works    injuri- 


< IDYLS  OF  THE  KING} 


179 


ously,  urging  him  to  bring  out  fully  the  moral  of  his 
allegory,  albeit  the  effect  really  is  harmed  by  this 
addition  of  the  sequel,  down  to  the  line  which 
finishes  the  work  :  — 

"  And  the  new  sun  rose  bringing  the  new  year." 

In  conclusion,  observe  the  technical  features  of 
"  Gareth  and  Lynette,"  a  canto  recently  added  to 
the  poem.  It  displays  Tennyson's  latest,  not  his 
best  manner,  carried  to  an  extreme ;  the  verse  is 
clamped  together,  with  every  conjunction  omitted 
that  can  be  spared,  yet  interspersed  with  lines  of 
a  galloping,  redundant  nature,  as  if  the  Laureate 
were  somewhat  influenced  by  Swinburne  and  adapt 
ing  himself  to  a  fashion  of  the  time.  A  special 
fault  is  the  substitution  of  alliteration  for  the  simple 
excellence  of  his  standard  verse.  This  may  be  a 
concession  to  the  modern  school,  or  a  result  of  his 
mousing  among  Pre-Chaucerian  ballads.  It  palls  on 
the  ear,  as  does  the  poet's  excessive  reiteration  and 
play  upon  words.  We  are  compensated  for  all  this 
by  a  stalwart  presentation  of  that  fine  old  English 
which  Emerson  has  pronounced  "  a  stern  and  dread 
ful  language."  The  public  is  indebted  to  Tennyson 
for  a  restoration  of  precious  Saxon  words,  too  long 
forgotten,  which,  we  trust,  will  hereafter  maintain 
their  ground.  He  is  a  purifier  of  our  tongue :  a 
resistant  to  the  novelties  of  slang  and  affectation 
intruded  upon  our  literature  by  the  mixture  of  races 
and  the  extension  of  English-speaking  colonies  to 
every  clime  and  continent  in  the  world. 

It  is  not  probable  that  another  sustained  poem 
will  hereafter  be  written  upon  the  Arthurian  legends. 
Milton's  dream  inconsonant  with  his  own  time  and 


"  Gareth 
and  Ly 
nette" 


Recent  man 
nerisms. 


Tennyson's 
English. 


i8o 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


higher  aspirations,  has,  at  last,  its  due  fulfilment. 
The  subject  waited  long,  a  sleeping  beauty,  until 
the  "  fated  fairy-prince "  came,  woke  it  into  life, 
and  the  spell  is  forever  at  an  end.  But  who  shall 
say  whether  future  generations  will  rate  this  epic 
as  highly  as  we  do  ;  whether  it  will  stand  out  like 
"  The  Faery  Queene  "  and  "  Paradise  Lost,"  as  one 
of  the  epochal  compositions  by  which  an  age  is 
symbolized?  More  than  one  poem,  or  series  of 
poems,  —  Drayton's  "The  Barons'  Wars,"  for  in 
stance,  —  has  wrongly  in  its  own  time  been  thought 
a  work  of  this  class,  though  now  men  say  of  it  that 
only  the  shadow  of  its  name  remains.  At  present 
we  have  no  right  to  declare  of  the  "  Idyls  of  the 
King,"  as  of  "  In  Memoriam,"  that  it  is  so  original, 
so  representative  both  of  the  author  and  of  his 
period,  as  to  defy  the  dust  of  time. 

A  famous  life  often  falls  short  of  its  promise. 
Temperament  and  circumstance  hedge  it  with  ob 
stacles  ;  or,  perhaps,  the  "  Fury  with  the  abhorred 
shears "  slits  its  thin-spun  tissue  before  the  decisive 
hour.  In  the  case  of  Tennyson  this  has  been  re 
versed.  He  has  advanced  by  regular  stages  to  the 
highest  office  of  a  poet.  More  fortunate  than  Lan- 
dor,  he  was  suited  to  the  time,  and  the  time  to  his 
genius  ;  he  has  been  happier  than  Keats  or  Shelley 
in  length  of  years,  and,  in  ease  of  circumstances, 
than  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  or  Hood.  Had  he 
died  after  completing  the  epic,  his  work  would  still 
seem  rounded  and  complete.  Surely  a  poet's  youth 
ful  dream  never  was  more  fully  realized,  and  we 
must  regard  the  Laureate's  genius  as  developed 
through  good  fortune  to  the  utmost  degree  per 
mitted  by  inherent  limitations. 


ENOCH  ARDEN: 


181 


During  the  growth  of  this  epic  he  has,  however, 
produced  a  few  other  poems  which  take  high  rank. 
Of  these,  Enoch  Arden,  in  sustained  beauty,  bears 
a  relation  to  his  shorter  pastorals  similar  to  that 
existing  between  the  epic  and  his  minor  heroic-verse. 
Coming  within  the  average  range  of  emotions,  it 
has  been  very  widely  read.  This  poem  is  in  its 
author's  purest  idyllic  style ;  noticeable  for  evenness 
of  tone,  clearness  of  diction,  successful  description 
of  coast  and  ocean,  —  finally,  for  the  loveliness  and 
fidelity  of  its  genre  scenes.  In  study  of  a  class 
below  him,  hearts  "centred  in  the  sphere  of  com 
mon  duties,"  the  Laureate  is  unsurpassed.  A  far 
different  creation  is  "  Lucretius,"  a  brooding  charac 
ter  with  which  Tennyson  is  quite  in  sympathy.  He 
has  invested  it  with  a  certain  restless  grandeur,  yet 
hardly,  I  should  conceive,  wrought  out  the  work  he 
thought  possible  when  the  theme  was  first  suggested 
to  his  mind.  He  found  its  limits  and  contented 
himself  with  portraying  a  gloomy,  isolated  figure, 
as  strongly  and  subtly  as  Browning  would  have 
drawn  it,  and  with  a  terseness  beyond  the  latter's 
art. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  "The  Golden  Supper" 
and  "Aylmer's  Field."  Among  other  and  better 
pieces,  "  Sea-Dreams,"  —  a  poem  of  measureless 
satire  and  much  idyllic  beauty,  — "  Tithonus,"  "  The 
Voyage,"  —  a  fine  lyric,  and  such  masterly  ballads 
as  "The  Victor,"  "The  Captor,"  and  "The  Sailor- 
Boy,"  will  not  be  forgotten.  It  is  worth  while  to 
observe  the  few  dialect  poems  which  Tennyson  has 
written,  —  thrown  off,  as  if  merely  to  show  that  he 
could  be  easily  first  in  a  field  which  he  resigns  to 
others.  The  "  Northern  Farmer "  ballads,  old  and 


"  Enoch 
A  rden,  am 
Other 
Poems" 
1864. 


"Lucre- 
tius." 


Miscellane 
ous  pieces. 


Dialect 
poems>  etc. 


182 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


Character 
istics  of 
Tennyson's 
genius. 


Synthetic 
perfection. 


Lark  of 
spirit  and 
quality. 


new,  are  the  best  English  dialect  studies  of  our 
time.  Among  his  minor  diversions  are  light  oc 
casional  pieces  and  some  experiments  in  classical 
measures,  —  often  finished  sketches,  germs  of  works 
to  which  he  has  given  no  further  attention.  He 
saw  that  "  Boadicea "  offered  no  such  field  as  that 
afforded  by  the  Arthurian  legends,  and  wisely  gave 
it  over.  Again,  he  unquestionably  could  have  made 
a  great  blank-verse  translation  of  Homer,  but  chose 
the  better  part  in  devoting  his  middle  life  solely 
to  creative  work.  The  world  can  ill  afford  to  lose 
a  poet's  golden  prime  in  the  labors  of  a  translator. 


IV. 

IN  whatsoever  light  we  examine  the  characteristics  / 
of  the  Laureate's  genius,  the  complete  and  even 
balance  of  his  poetry  is  from  first  to  last  con 
spicuous.  It  exhibits  that  just  combination  of  lyrical 
elements  which  makes  a  symphony,  wherein  it  is 
difficult  to  say  what  quality  predominates.  Review 
ing  minor  poets,  we  think  this  one  attractive  for 
the  wild  flavor  of  his  unstudied  verse ;  another,  for 
the  gush  and  music  of  his  songs  ;  a  third,  for  idyllic 
sweetness  or  tragic  power ;  but  in  Tennyson  we 
have  the  strong  repose  of  art,  whereof  —  as  of  the 
perfection  of  nature  —  the  world  is  slow  to  tire. 
It  has  become  conventional,  but  remember  that 
nothing  endures  to  the  point  of  conventionalism 
which  is  not  based  upon  lasting  rules  ;  that  it  once 
was  new  and  refreshing,  and  is  sure,  in  future  days, 
to  regain  the  early  charm. 

The    one    thing    longed    for,    and    most    frequently 
missed,    in   work    of    this   kind,    is    the   very   wilding 


ANALYSIS  OF  HIS  GENIUS. 


183 


flavor  of  which  I  speak.  We  are  not  always  broad 
enough  and  elevated  enough  to  be  content  with 
symphonic  art.  Guinevere  wearies  of  Arthur.  There 
are  times  when  a  tart  apple,  a  crust  of  bread,  a  bit 
of  wild  honey,  are  worth  more  to  us  than  all  the 
delicacies  of  the  larder.  We  wish  more  rugged 
outbreaks,  more  impetuous  discords ;  we  listen  for 
the  sudden  irregular  trill  of  the  thicket  songster. 
The  fulness  of  Tennyson's  art  evades  the  charm 
of  spontaneity.  How  rarely  he  takes  you  by  sur 
prise  !  His  stream  is  sweet,  assured,  strong ;  but 
how  seldom  the  abrupt  bend,  the  plunge  of  the 
cataract,  the  thunder  and  the  spray !  Doubtless  he 
has  enthusiasms,  but  all  are  held  in  hand;  college- 
life,  study,  restraint,  comfort,  reverence,  have  done 
their  work  upon  him.  He  is  well  broken,  as  we 
say  of  a  thoroughbred,  —  proud  and  true,  and, 
though  he  makes  few  bursts  of  speed,  keeps  easily 
forward,  and  is  sure  to  be  first  at  the  stand. 

We  come  back  to  the  avowal  that  in  technical 
excellence,  as  an  artist  in  verse,  Alfred  Tennyson 
is  the  greatest  of  modern  poets.  Other  masters, 
old  or  new,  have  surpassed  him  in  special  instances ; 
but  he  is  the  one  who  rarely  nods,  and  who  always 
finishes  his  verse  to  the  extreme.  Not  that  he  is 
free  from  weaknesses :  to  the  present  day,  when 
pushed  for  inspiration,  he  resorts  to  inventions  as 
disagreeable  as  the  affectation  which  repelled  many 
healthy  minds  from  his  youthful  lyrics.  Faults  of 
this  sort,  in  "  Maud  "  and  later  poems,  have  somewhat 
prejudiced  another  class  of  readers,  —  people  who, 
with  what  a  critic  denominates  their  "  eighteenth 
century"  taste,  still  pay  homage  to  the  genius  of 
Pope  for  merits  which  the  Laureate  has  in  even 


1 84 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


resemblance 
between 
Tennyson 
and  Pope. 


greater  excess.  A  question  recently  has  been 
mooted,  whether  Milton,  were  he  living  in  our  time, 
could  write  "Paradise  Lost"?  A  no  less  interesting 
conjecture  would  relate  to  the  kind  of  poetry  that 
we  should  have  from  Pope,  were  he  of  Tennyson's 
generation.  The  physical  traits  of  the  two  men 
being  so  utterly  at  variance,  no  doubt  many  will 
scout  my  suggestion  that  the  verse  of  the  former 
might  closely  resemble  that  of  the  latter.  Pope 
excelled  in  qualities  which,  mutatis  mutandis,  are 
noticeable  in  Tennyson :  finish  and  minuteness  of 
detail,  and  the  elevation  of  common  things  to  fanci 
ful  beauty.  Here,  again,  compare  "  The  Rape  of 
the  Lock "  with  "  The  Sleeping  Beauty,"  and  espe 
cially  with  "  The  Talking  Oak."  A  faculty  of  "  say 
ing  things,"  which,  in  Pope  (his  being  a  cruder  age, 
when  persons  needed  that  homely  wisdom  which 
seems  trite  enough  in  our  day),  became  didacticism, 
in  Tennyson  is  sweetly  natural  and  poetic.  Since 
the  period  of  the  "  Essay  on  Man,"  from  what  writer 
can  you  cull  so  many  wise  and  fine  proverbial 
phrases  as  from  the  poet  who  says  :  — 

"  'T  is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost, 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all " ; 

"Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood  "  ; 

"There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds  " ; 

who   puts   the  theory  of   evolution  in  a  couplet  when 

he  sings  of 

"  one  far-off  divine  event, 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves  " ; 


TENNYSON  AND  POPE. 


who  so  tersely  avows  that 

"  Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers  "  ; 

"Things  seen  are  mightier  than  things  heard"; 
and,  again :  — 

"Old  age  hath  yet  his  honor  and  his  toil"; 

from  whom  else  so  many  of  these  proverbs,  which  are 
not  isolated,  but,  as  in  Pope's  works,  recur  by  tens 
and  scores  ?  Curious  felicities  of  verse  :  — 

"  Laborious  orient  ivory  sphere  in  sphere  "  ; 
lines  which  record  the  most  exquisite  thrills  of  life :  — 

"  Our  spirits  rush'd  together  at  the  touching  of  the  lips " ; 
and  unforgotten  similes  :  — 

"  Dear  as  remembered  kisses  after  death  " ;  — 

such  beauties  as  these  occur  in  multitudes,  and  lit 
erally  make  up  the  body  of  the  Laureate's  song.  In 
feeling,  imagination,  largeness  of  heart  and  head,  the 
diminutive  satirist  can  enter  into  no  comparison  with 
our  poet,  but  the  situation  is  otherwise  as  respects 
finish  and  moralistic  power.  The  essence  of  Pope's 
art  was  false,  because  it  was  the  product  of  a  false 
age ;  Dryden  had  been  his  guide  to  the  stilted  hero 
ics  of  the  French  school,  which  so  long  afterwards, 
Pope  lending  them  such  authority,  stalked  through 
English  verse.  In  this  day  he  would,  like  Tennyson, 
have  found  his  masters  among  the  early,  natural 
poets,  or  obtained,  in  a  direct  manner,  what  classi 
cism  he  needed,  and  not  through  Gallic  filters.  Yet 
it  is  not  long  since  I  heard  an  eminent  man  laud 
ing  Pope  for  the  very  characteristics  which,  as  here 


1 86 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


Supreme 
and  complex 
modern  art. 


shown,  are  conspicuous  in  Tennyson ;  and  decrying 
the  latter,  misled  by  that  chance  acquaintance  with 
his  poetry  which  is  worse  than  no  acquaintance  at 
all.  In  suggestiveness  Pope  was  singularly  deficient: 
his  constructive  faculty  so  prevailed,  that  he  left 
nothing  to  the  reader's  fancy,  but  explained  to  the 
end.  He  had  no  such  moods  as  those  evoked  by 
"  Tears,  idle  tears,"  and  "  Break,  break,  break ! "  and 
therefore  his  verses  never  suggest  them.  In  irony 
Tennyson  would  equal  Pope,  had  he  not  risen  above 
it.  The  man  who  wrote  "The  New  Timon  and  the 
Poets,"  and  afterwards  rebuked  himself  for  so  doing, 
could  write  another  "  Dunciad,"  or,  without  resort  to 
any  models,  a  still  more  polished  and  bitter  satire  of 
his  own. 

Tennyson's  original  and  fastidious  art  is  of  itself  a 
theme  for  an  essay.  The  poet  who  studies  it  may 
well  despair ;  he  never  can  excel  it,  and  is  tempted 
to  a  reactionary  carelessness,  trusting  to  make  his 
individuality  felt  thereby.  Its  strength  is  that  of  per 
fection  ;  its  weakness,  the  over-perfection  which  marks 
a  still-life  painter.  Here  is  the  absolute  sway  of 
metre,  compelling  every  rhyme  and  measure  needful 
to  the  thought ;  here  are  sinuous  alliterations,  unique 
and  varying  breaks  and  pauses,  winged  flights  and 
falls,  the  glory  of  sound  and  color,  everywhere  pres 
ent,  or,  if  missing,  absent  of  the  poet's  free  will.  Art 
so  complex  was  not  possible  until  centuries  of  litera 
ture  had  passed,  and  an  artist  could  overlook  the 
field,  essay  each  style,  and  evolve  a  metrical  result, 
which  should  be  to  that  of  earlier  periods  what  the 
music  of  Meyerbeer  and  Rossini  is  to  the  narrower 
range  of  Piccini  or  Gluck.  In  Tennyson's  artistic 
conscientiousness,  he  is  the  opposite  of  that  com- 


HIS  DESCRIPTIVE  POWER. 


I37 


peer  who  approaches  him  most  nearly  in  years  and 
strength  of  intellect,  Robert  Browning.  His  gift  of 
language  is  not  so  copious  as  Swinburne's,  yet  through 
its  use  the  higher  excellence  is  attained.  But  I  shall 
elsewhere  write  of  these  matters.  Let  me  conclude 
my  remarks  upon  the  Laureate's  art  with  a  reference 
to  his  unfailing  taste  and  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 
This  is  neatly  exemplified  in  the  openings,  and  espe 
cially  in  the  endings,  of  his  idyls.  "  Audley  Court " 
very  well  illustrates  what  I  mean.  Observe,  also,  the 
beautiful  dedication  of  his  collected  works  to  the 
Queen,  and  the  solemn  and  faithful  character-painting 
of  the  tribute  to  Prince  Albert  which  forms  the  prelude 
to  the  Idyls  of  the  King.  The  two  dedications  are 
equal  to  the  best  ever  written,  and  each  is  a  poem 
by  itself.  They  fully  sustained  the  wisdom  of  Victo 
ria's  choice  of  a  successor  to 

"  This  laurel  greener  from  the  brows 
Of  him  that  uttered  nothing  base." 

Leaving  the  architecture  of  Tennyson's  poetry  and 
coming  to  the  sentiment  which  it  seeks  to  express, 
we  are  struck  at  once  by  the  fact  that  an  idyllic, 
or  picturesque  mode  of  conveying  that  sentiment  is 
the  one  natural  to  this  poet,  if  not  the  only  one 
permitted  by  his  limitations.  In  this  he  surpasses  all 
the  poets  since  Theocritus;  and  his  work  is  greater 
than  the  Syracusan's,  because  his  thought  and  period 
are  greater.  His  eyes  are  his  purveyors  ;  with  "  wis 
dom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out"  he  would  be 
helpless.  To  use  the  lingo  of  the  phrenologists,  his 
locality  is  better  than  his  individuality.  He  does  not, 
like  Browning,  catch  the  secret  of  a  master-passion, 
nor,  like  the  old  dramatists,  the  very  life  of  action; 


Browning. 
Swinburne. 


raste. 


The  Laure 
ate  an  idyl- 
list. 


1 88 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


His  descrip 
tive  faculty. 


Limitations. 


on  the  contrary,  he  gives  us  an  ideal  picture  of  an 
ideal  person,  but  set  against  a  background  more 
tangible  than  other  artists  can  draw,  —  making  the 
accessories,  and  even  the  atmosphere,  convey  the 
meaning  of  his  poem.  As  we  study  his  verse,  and 
the  sound  and  color  of  it  enter  our  souls,  we  think 
with  him,  we  partake  of  his  feeling,  and  are  led  to 
regions  which  he  finds  himself  unable  to  open  for 
us  except  in  this  suggestive  way.  The  fidelity  of  his 
accessories  is  peculiar  to  the  time  :  realistic,  without 
the  Flemish  homeliness ;  true  as  Pre-Raphaelitism, 
but  mellowed  with  the  atmosphere  of  a  riper  art. 
This  idyllic  method  is  not  that  of  the  most  inspired 
poets  and  the  most  impassioned  periods.  But,  merely 
as  a  descriptive  writer,  who  is  so  delightful  as  Ten 
nyson?  He  has  the  unerring  first  touch,  which  in  a 
single  line  proves  the  artist ;  and  it  justly  has  been 
remarked  that  there  is  more  true  English  landscape 
in  many  an  isolated  stanza  of  "  In  Memoriam "  than 
in  the  whole  of  "  The  Seasons,"  —  that  vaunted  de 
scriptive  poem  of  a  former  century.  A  paper  has 
been  written  upon  the  Lincolnshire  scenery  depicted 
in  his  poems,  and  we  might  have  others,  just  as  well, 
upon  his  marine  or  highland  views.  He  is  a  born 
observer  of  physical  nature,  and,  whenever  he  applies 
an  adjective  to  some  object,  or  passingly  alludes  to 
some  phenomenon  which  others  have  not  noted,  is 
almost  infallibly  correct.  Possibly  he  does  this  too 
methodically,  but  his  opponents  cannot  deny  that  his 
outdoor  rambles  are  guided  by  their  eloquent  apostle's 
"  Lamp  of  Truth." 

His  limitations  are  nearly  as  conspicuous  as  his 
abundant  gifts.  They  are  indicated,  first,  by  a  style 
pronounced  to  the  degree  of  mannerism,  and,  sec- 


HIS  LIMITATIONS. 


189 


ondly,  by  failure,  until  within  a  very  recent  date,  to 
produce  dramatic  work  of  the  genuine  kind. 

With  respect  to  his  style,  it  may  be  said  that 
Tennyson  —  while  objective  in  the  variety  of  his 
themes,  and  in  ability  to  separate  his  own  experi 
ence  from  their  development  —  is  the  most  sub 
jective  of  poets  in  the  distinguishable  flavor  of  his 
language  and  rhythm.  Reading  him  you  might  not 
guess  his  life  and  story,  —  the  reverse  of  which  is 
true  with  Byron,  whom  I  take  as  a  familiar  example 
of  the  subjective  in  literature ;  nevertheless,  it  is  im 
possible  to  observe  a  single  line,  or  an  entire  speci 
men,  of  the  Laureate's  poems,  without  feeling  that 
they  are  in  the  handwriting  of  the  same  master,  or 
of  some  disciple  who  has  caught  his  fascinating  and 
contagious  style. 

I  speak  of  his  second  limitation,  with  a  full 
knowledge  that  many  claim  a  dramatic  crown  for  the 
author  of  the  "  Northern  Fanner,"  "  Tithonus,"  "  St. 
Simeon  Stylites,"  —  for  the  poet  of  the  Round 
Table  and  the  Holy  Grail.  But  isolated  studies 
are  not  sufficient :  a  group  of  living  men  and  women 
is  necessary  to  broad  dramatic  action.  Tennyson 
forces  his  characters  to  adapt  themselves  to  pre 
conceived,  statuesque  ideals  of  his  own.  His  chief 
success  is  with  those  in  humble  life ;  in  "  Enoch 
Arden,"  and  elsewhere,  he  has  very  sweetly  depicted 
the  emotions  of  simple  natures,  rarely  at  a  sublime 
height  or  depth  of  passion.  He  also  draws  —  with 
an  easy  touch  occasionally  found  in  the  prose  of 
the  author  of  "  The  Warden  "  —  a  group  of  sturdy, 
refined,  comfortable  fellows  upon  their  daily  ram 
bles,  British  and  modern  in  their  wholesome  talk. 
But  the  true  dramatist  instinctively  portrays  either 


Cp.pageiiyi. 
Style. 


Lack  oftJie 
trt4e  dra 
matic  gift. 


190 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


Effect  of  a 
secluded  life . 


His  ideal 
Personages. 


exceptional  characters,  or  ordinary  beings  in  im 
passioned  and  extraordinary  moods.  This  Tennyson 
rarely  essays  to  do,  except  when  presenting  imagi 
nary  heroes  of  a  visioned  past.  A  great  master  of 
contemplative,  descriptive,  or  lyrical  verse,  he  falls 
short  in  that  combination  of  action  and  passion  which 
we  call  dramatic,  and  often  gives  us  a  series  of  mar 
vellous  tableaux  in  lieu  of  exalted  speech  and  deeds. 

This  lack  of  individuality  is  somewhat  due  to 
the  influence  of  the  period ;  largely,  also,  to  the 
habit  of  solitude  which  the  poet  has  chosen  to  in 
dulge.  His  life  has  been  passed  among  his  books 
or  in  the  seclusion  of  rural  haunts  ;  when  in  town, 
in  the  company  of  a  few  chosen  friends.  This  has 
heightened  his  tendency  to  reverie,  and  unfitted  him 
to  distinguish  sharply  between  men  and  men.  The 
great  novelists  of  our  day,  who  correspond  to  the 
dramatists  of  a  past  age,  have  plunged  into  the  roar 
of  cities  and  the  thick  of  the  crowd,  touching  people 
closely  and  on  every  side.  It  must  be  owned  that 
we  do  not  find  in  their  works  that  close  knowledge 
of  inanimate  nature  for  which  Tennyson  has  fore 
gone  "the  proper  study  of  mankind."  The  one 
seems  to  curtail  the  other,  Wordsworth's  writings 
being  another  example  in  point.  "  Men  my  brothers, 
men  the  workers,"  sings  the  Laureate,  and  is  pleased 
to  watch  and  encourage  them,  but  always-  from  afar. 

With'  few  exceptions,  then,  his  most  poetical  types 
of  men  and  women  are  not  substantial  beings,  but 
beautiful  shadows,  which,  like  the  phantoms  of  a 
stereopticon,  dissolve  if  you  examine  them  too  long 
and  closely.  His  knights  are  the  old  bequest  of  chiv 
alry,  yet  how  stalwart  and  picturesque !  His  early 
ideals  of  women  are  cathedral-paintings,  —  scarcely 


PERFECTLY  ADAPTED   TO  HIS  TIME. 


flesh  and  blood,  but  certain  attributes  personified  and 
made  angelical.  Where  a  story  has  been  made  for 
him  he  is  more  dramatic.  Arthur,  Lancelot,  Merlin, 
Guinevere,  are  strong,  wise,  or  beautiful,  and  so  we 
find  them  in  the  chronicle  from  which  the  poet  drew 
his  legend.  He  has  advanced  them  to  the  require 
ments  of  modern  Christianity,  yet  hardly  created  them 
anew.  It  is  not  improbable  that  Tennyson  may  force 
himself  to  compose  some  notably  dramatic  work ;  but 
only  through  skill  and  strength  of  purpose,  in  this 
age,  and  with  his  habit  of  life.  In  a  dramatic  period 
he  might  find  himself  as  sadly  out  of  place  as  Bed- 
does,  Darley,  Landor,  have  been  in  his  own  century. 
By  sheer  good  fortune  he  has  flourished  in  a  time 
calling  for  tenderness,  thought,  excellent  workman 
ship,  and  not  for  wild  extremes  of  power.  So  chaste, 
varied,  and  tuneful  are  his  notes,  that  they  are  scorn 
fully  compared  to  piano-music,  in  distinction  from 
what  he  himself  has  entitled  the  "  God-gifted  organ 
voice  of  England."  Take,  however,  the  piano  as  an 
instrumental  expression  of  recent  musical  taste,  and 
see  to  what  a  height  of  execution,  of  capacity  to  give 
almost  universal  pleasure,  the  art  of  playing  it  has 
been  carried.  A  great  pianist  is  a  great  artist ;  and  it 
is  no  light  fame  which  holds,  with  relation  to  poetry, 
the  supremacy  awarded  to  Liszt  or  Schumann  by  the 
refined  musicians  of  our  time. 

The  cast  of  Tennyson's  intellect  is  such,  that  his 
social  rank,  his  training  at  an  old  university,  and  his 
philosophic  learning  have  bred  in  him  a  liberal  con 
servatism.  Increase  of  ease  and  fame  have  strength 
ened  his  inclination  to  accept  things  as  they  are, 
and,  while  recognizing  the  law  of  progress,  to  make 
no  undue  effort  to  hasten  the  order  of  events.  He 


He  -may  yet 
•write  a  fine 
drama. 
P.  S.    See 
page  413. 


Perfectly 
adapted  to 
his  time. 


A  liberal 
conserva 
tive  : 


1 92 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


sees  that  "the  thoughts  of  men  are  widened  with  the 
process  of  the  suns,"  but  is  not  the  man  to  lead  a 
reform,  or  to  disturb  the  pleasant  conditions  in  which 
his  lot  is  cast.  No  personal  wrong  has  allied  him 
to  the  oppressed  and  struggling  classes,  yet  he  is 
too  intellectual  not  to  perceive  that  such  wrongs 
exist.  It  must  be  remembered  that  Shakespeare  and 
Goethe  were  no  more  heroic.  Just  so  with  his  re 
ligious  attitude.  Reverence  for  beauty  would  of  itself 
dispose  him  to  love  the  ivied  Church,  with  all  its 
art,  and  faith,  and  ancestral  legendary  associations ; 
and  therefore,  while  amply  reflecting  in  his  verse  the 
doubt  and  disquiet  of  the  age,  his  tranquil  sense  of 
order,  together  with  the  failure  of  iconoclasts  to  sub 
stitute  any  creed  for  that  which  they  are  breaking 
down,  have  brought  him  to  the  position  of  stanch  Sir 
William  Petty  (obiit  1687),  who  wrote  in  his  will  these 
memorable  words :  "  As  for  religion,  I  die  in  the 
profession  of  that  Faith,  and  in  the  practice  of  such 
Worship,  as  I  find  established  by  the  law  of  my 
country,  not  being  able  to  believe  what  I  myself 
please,  nor  to  worship  God  better  than  by  doing  as 
I  would  be  done  unto,  and  observing  the  laws  of 
my  country,  and  expressing  my  love  and  honor  unto 
Almighty  God  by  such  signs  and  tokens  as  are  un 
derstood  to  be  such  by  the  people  with  whom  I  live, 
God  knowing  my  heart  even  without  any  at  all." 

So  far  as  the  "  religion  of  art "  is  concerned,  Ten 
nyson  is  the  most  conscientious  of  devotees.  Through 
out  his  work  we  find  a  pure  and  thoughtful  purpose, 
abhorrent  of  the  mere  licentious  passion  for  beauty, 

"such  as  lurks 

In  some  wild  Poet,  when  he  works 
Without  a  conscience  or  an  aim." 


WORDSWORTH  UPON  SCIENCE  AND  POETRY. 


193 


In  my  remarks  upon  "  In  Memoriam  "  I  have  shown 
that  in  one  direction  he  readily  keeps  pace  with  the 
advance  of  modern  thought.  A  leading  mission  of 
his  art  appears  to  be  that  of  hastening  the  transition 
of  our  poetic  nomenclature  and  imagery  from  the  old 
or  phenomenal  method  to  one  in  accordance  with 
knowledge  and  truth.  His  laurel  is  brighter  for  the 
fact  that  he  constantly  avails  himself  of  the  results 
of  scientific  discovery,  without  making  them  prosaic. 
This  tendency,  beginning  with  "  Locksley  Hall "  and 
"  The  Princess,"  has  increased  with  him  to  the  present 
time.  If  modern  story-writers  can  make  the  wonders 
of  chemistry  and  astronomy  the  basis  of  tales  more 
fascinating  to  children  than  the  Arabian  Nights,  why 
should  not  the  poet  explore  this  field  for  the  creation 
of  a  new  imagery  and  expression  ?  There  is  a  remark 
able  passage  in  Wordsworth's  preface  to  the  second 
edition  of  his  poems ;  a  prophecy  which,  half  a  cen 
tury  ago,  could  only  have  been  uttered  by  a  man  of 
lofty  intellect  and  extraordinary  premonition  of  changes 
even  now  at  hand :  — 

"The  objects  of  the  poet's  thoughts  are  every 
where  ;  though  the  eyes  and  senses  of  men  are,  it  is 
true,  his  favorite  guides,  yet  he  will  follow  whereso 
ever  he  can  find  an  atmosphere  of  sensation  in  which 
to  move  his  wings.  Poetry  is  the  first  and  last  of  all 
knowledge,  —  it  is  immortal  as  the  heart  of  man.  If 
the  labors  of  the  men  of  science  should  ever  create 
any  material  revolution,  direct  or  indirect,  in  our  con 
dition,  and  in  the  impressions  which  we  habitually 
receive,  the  poet  will  sleep  then  no  more  than  at 
present;  he  will  be  ready  to  follow  the  steps  of  the 
man  of  science,  not  only  in  those  general  indirect 
effects,  but  he  will  be  at  his  side,  carrying  sensation 
9  M 


His  verse 
conformed 
to  modern 
Progress  and 
discovery- 


Words 
worth  upon 
the  future 
relations  of 
Science  and 
Poetry. 
See  also 
page  15. 


194 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


into  the  midst  of  the  objects  of  the  science  itself. 
The  remotest  discoveries  of  the  chemist,  the  bot 
anist,  or  mineralogist  will  be  as  proper  objects  of  the 
poet's  art  as  any  upon  which  it  can  be  employed,  if 
the  time  should  ever  come  when  these  things  shall  be 
familiar  to  us,  and  the  relations  under  which  they  are 
contemplated  by  the  followers  of  the  respective  sciences 
shall  be  manifestly  and  palpably  material  to  us  as  enjoy 
ing  and  suffering  beings.  If  the  time  should  ever  come 
when  what  is  now  called  science,  thus  familiarized  to 
men,  shall  be  ready  to  put  on,  as  it  were,  a  form  of  flesh 
and  blood,  the  poet  will  lend  his  divine  spirit  to  aid  the 
transfiguration,  and  will  welcome  the  Being  thus  pro 
duced,  as  a  dear  and  genuine  inmate  of  the  household  of 
man." 

It  is  not  unlikely  that  Tennyson  was  early  im 
pressed  by  these  profound  observations ;  at  all  events, 
he  has  seen  the  truths  of  science  becoming  familiar 
"to  the  general,"  and  has  governed  his  art  accord 
ingly.  The  poet  and  man  of  science  have  a  common 
ground,  since  few  discoveries  are  made  without  the 
exercise  of  the  poet's  special  gift,  —  the  imagination. 
This  faculty  is  required  to  enable  a  child  to  compre 
hend  any  scientific  paradox :  for  instance,  that  of  the 
rotation  of  the  Earth  upon  its  axis.  The  imagination 
of  an  investigator  advances  from  one  step  to  another, 
and  thus,  in  a  certain  sense,  the  mental  processes  of 
a  Milton  and  a  Newton  are  near  akin.  A  plod 
ding,  didactic  intellect  is  not  strictly  scientific ;  nor 
will  great  poetry  ever  spring  from  a  merely  phan 
tasmal  brain :  "  best  bard  because  the  wisest,"  sings 
the  poet 

M.  Taine's  chapter  upon  Tennyson  shows  an  intelli 
gent  perception  of  the  Laureate's  relations  to  his  time, 


TAINE'S  ESTIMATE   OF  HIM. 


195 


and  especially  to  England  ;  but  though  containing  a 
fine  interlude  upon  the  perennial  freshness  of  a  poet 
and  the  zest  which  makes  nature  a  constant  surprise 
to  him,  —  declaring  that  the  poet,  in  the  presence  of 
this  world,  is  as  the  first  man  on  the  first  day,  —  with 
all  this  excellence  the  chapter  fails  to  rightly  appre 
ciate  Tennyson,  and  overestimates  Alfred  de  Musset 
in  comparison.  M.  Taine's  failure,  I  think,  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  no  one,  however  successful  in  mastering 
a  foreign  language,  can  fully  enter  into  that  nicety 
of  art  which  is  the  potent  witchery  of  Tennyson's 
verse.  The  minute  distinction  between  one  poem 
and  another,  where  the  ideas  are  upon  a  level,  and 
the  difference  is  one  of  essential  flavor,  a  foreigner 
loses  without  perceiving  his  loss.  Precisely  this  deli 
cacy  of  aroma  separates  Tennyson  from  other  masters 
of  verse.  An  English  school-girl  will  see  in  his  work 
a  beauty  that  wholly  escapes  the  most  accomplished 
Frenchman :  the  latter  may  have  ten  times  her  knowl 
edge  of  the  language,  but  she  "hears  a  voice  he 
cannot  hear"  and  feels  an  influence  he  never  can 
fairly  understand.  Again,  M.  Taine  does  not  allow 
credit  for  the  importance  of  the  works  actually  pro 
duced  by  Tennyson.  Largeness  and  proportion  go 
for  something  in  edifices ;  and  although  De  Musset, 
the  errant,  impassioned,  suffering  Parisian,  had  the 
sacred  fire,  and  gave  out  burning  flashes  here  and 
there,  his  light  was  fitful,  nor  long  sustained,  and  we 
think  rather  of  what  one  so  gifted  ought  to  have 
accomplished  than  of  what  he  actually  did. 

But  Taine's  catholicity,  and  the  very  fact  that  he 
is  a  foreigner,  have  protected  him,  on  the  other  hand, 
from  the  overweening  influence  of  Tennyson's  art,  that 
holds  us 


Its  defects. 


De  Musset. 


Wherein 
the  French 
critic  has 
succeeded. 


196 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


"  Above  the  subject,  as  strong  gales 
Hold  swollen  clouds  from  raining  "  ; 

have  made  him  a  wiser  judge  of  the  poet's  intellect 
ual  and  imaginative  position.  In  this  matter  he  is 
like  a  deaf  man  watching  a  battle,  undisturbed  by 
the  bewildering  power  of  sound.  His  remarks  upon 
the  limitations  of  a  "  comfortable,  luxurious,  English  " 
muse  are  not  without  reason ;  all  in  all,  he  has  a 
just  idea  of  Tennyson's  representative  attitude  in  the 
present  state  of  British  thought  and  art.  He  has 
laid  too  little  stress  upon  the  difference  between 
Tennyson  and  Byron,  by  observing  which  we  gather 
a  clearer  estimate  of  the  former's  genius  than  in  any 
other  way. 

Tennyson  is  the  antithesis  of  Byron,  in  both  the 
form  and  spirit  of  his  song.  The  Georgian  poet, 
with  all  the  glow  of  genius,  constantly  giving  utter 
ance  to  condensed  and  powerful  expressions,  never 
attempted  condensation  in  his  general  style ;  there 
was  nothing  he  so  little  cared  for ;  his  inspiration 
must  have  full  flow  and  break  through  every  barrier; 
it  was  the  roaring  of  a  mighty  wind,  the  current  of 
a  great  river,  —  prone  to  overflow,  and  often  to  spread 
thinly  and  unevenly  upon  the  shoals  and  lowlands. 
Tennyson,  though  composing  an  extended  work,  seeks 
the  utmost  terseness  of  expression  ;  howsoever  com 
posite  his  verse,  it  is  tightly  packed  and  cemented, 
and  decorated  to  repletion  with  fretwork  and  precious 
stones  ;  nothing  is  neglected,  nothing  wasted,  nothing 
misapplied.  You  cannot  take  out  a  word  or  sentence 
without  marring  the  structure,  nor  can  you  find  a 
blemish ;  while  much  might  be  profitably  omitted 
from  Byron's  longer  poems,  and  their  blemishes  are 
frequent  as  the  beauties.  Prolixity,  diffuseness,  were 


TENNYSON  AND  BYRON. 


4 


197 


characteristic  of  Byron's  time.  Again,-  Tennyson  is 
greater  in  analysis  and  synthesis,  the  two< 
servitors  of  art.  In  sense  of  proportion  Byron 
all  abroad.  He  struck  bravely  into  a  poem,  an 
trusting  to  the  fire  of  his  inspiration,  let  it  write 
itself,  neither  seeing  the  end  nor  troubling  his  mind 
concerning  it.  Certainly  this  was  true  with  regard 
to  his  greatest  productions,  "  Childe  Harold "  and 
"  Don  Juan " ;  though  others,  such  as  "  Manfred," 
were  exceptions  through  dramatic  necessity.  In  Ten 
nyson's  method,  as  in  architecture,  we  are  sure  that 
the  whole  structure  is  foreseen  at  the  outset.  Every 
block  is  numbered  and  swings  into  an  appointed 
place ;  often  the  final  portions  are  made  first,  that 
the  burden  of  the  plan  may  be  off  the  designer's 
mind.  Leaving  the  matter  of  art,  there  is  no  less 
difference  between  the  two  poets  as  we  consider 
their  perceptive  and  imaginative  gifts,  and  here  the 
largeness  of  Byron's  vision  tells  in  his  favor.  Ten 
nyson,  sometimes  grand  and  exalted,  is  equally  deli 
cate,  —  an  artist  of  the  beautiful  in  a  minute  way. 
Of  this  Byron  took  little  account  \  his  soul  was  ex 
alted  by  the  broad  and  mighty  aspects  of  nature ;  for 
mosaic- work  he  was  unfitted :  a  mountain,  the  sea, 
a  thunder-storm,  a  glorious  woman,  —  such  imposing 
objects  aroused  his  noble  rage.  You  never  could 
have  persuaded  him  that  the  microcosm  is  equal 
to  the  macrocosm.  Again,  his  subjectivity,  so  in 
tense,  was  wholly  different  from  Tennyson's,  in  that 
he  became  one  with  Nature,  —  a  part  of  that  which 
was  around  him.  Tennyson  is  subjective,  so  far  as 
a  pervading  sameness  of  style,  a  landscape  seen 
through  one  shade  of  glass,  can  make  him,  yet  few 
have  stood  more  calmly  aloof  from  Nature,  and  viewed 


i.   Their*'] 
Difference        /. 
ittikejhod; 


2.  In  per 
ception  and 
imagina 
tion  I 


3.  In  sub 
jectivity  ; 


198 


ALFRED    TENNYSON. 


her  more  objectively.  He  contemplates  things  with 
out  identifying  himself  with  them.  In  these  respects, 
Tennyson  and  Byron  not  only  are  antithetical,  but 
—  each  above  his  contemporaries  —  reflect  the  an 
tithetical  qualities  of  their  respective  eras.  In  con 
clusion,  it  should  be  noticed  that,  although  each  has 
had  a  host  of  followers,  Byron  affected  the  spirit  of 
the  people  at  large,  rather  than  the  style  of  his 
brother  poets ;  while  Tennyson,  through  the  force  of 
his  admirable  art,  has  affected  the  poets  themselves, 
who  do  not  sympathize  with  his  spirit,  but  show 
themselves  awed  and  instructed  by  his  mastery  of 
technics.  Byron's  influence  was  national  ;  that  of 
Tennyson  is  professional  to  an  unprecedented  degree. 
If  the  temperament  of  Byron  or  of  Mrs.  Browning 
may  be  pronounced  an  ideal  poetic  temperament, 
certainly  the  career  of  Tennyson  is  an  ideal  poetic 
career.  He  has  been  less  in  contact  with  the  rude 
outer  world  than  any  poet  save  Wordsworth  ;  again, 
while  even  the  latter  wrote  much  prose,  Tennyson, 
"  having  wherewithal,"  and  consecrating  his  life  whol 
ly  to  metrical  art,  has  been  a  verse-maker  and  noth 
ing  else.  He  has  passed  through  all  gradations, 
from  obscurity  to  laurelled  fame ;  beginning  with  the 
lightest  lyrics,  he  has  lived  to  write  the  one  success 
ful  epic  of  the  last  two  hundred  years  ;  and  though 
he  well  might  rest  content,  if  contentment  were  pos 
sible  to  poets  and  men,  with  the  glory  of  a  far- 
reaching  and  apparently  lasting  renown,  he  still 
pursues  his  art,  and  seems,  unlike  Campbell  and 
many  another  poet,  to  have  no  fear  of  the  shadow 
of  his  own  success.  His  lot  has  been  truly  enviable. 
We  have  observed  the  disadvantages  of  amateurship 
in  the  case  of  Landor,  and  noted  the  limitations 


A   FINAL  SUMMARY. 


199 


imposed  upon  Thomas  Hood  by  the  poverty  which 
clung  to  him  through  life  ;  but  Tennyson  has  made 
the  former  condition  a  vantage-ground,  and  thereby 
carried  his  work  to  a  perfection  almost  unattainable 
in  the  experience  of  a  professional,  hard-working  lit 
terateur.  Writing  as  much  and  as  little  as  he  chose, 
he  has  escaped  the  drudgery  which  breeds  contempt. 
His  song  has  been  the  sweeter  for  his  retirement, 
like  that  of  a  cicada  piping  from  a  distant  grove. 


V. 

REVIEWING  our  analysis  of  his  genius  and  works, 
we  find  in  Alfred  Tennyson  the  true  poetic  irritability, 
a  sensitiveness  increased  by  his  secluded  life,  and  dis 
played  from  time  to  time  in  "the  least  little  touch 
of  the  spleen " ;  we  perceive  him  to  be  the  most 
faultless  of  modern  poets  in  technical  execution,  but 
one  whose  verse  is  more  remarkable  for  artistic  per 
fection  than  for  dramatic  action  and  inspired  fervor. 
His  adroitness  surpasses  his  invention.  Give  him  a 
theme,  and  no  poet  can  handle  it  so  exquisitely, — yet 
we  feel  that,  with  the  Malory  legends  to  draw  upon, 
he  could  go  on  writing  "  Idyls  of  the  King "  forever. 
We  find  him  objective  in  the  spirit  of  his  verse,  but 
subjective  in  the  decided  manner  of  his  style ;  pos 
sessing  a  sense  of  proportion,  based  upon  the  high 
est  analytic  and  synthetic  powers, — a  faculty  that  can 
harmonize  the  incongruous  thoughts,  scenes,  and  gen 
eral  details  of  a  composite  period ;  in  thought  resem 
bling  Wordsworth,  in  art  instructed  by  Keats,  but 
rejecting  the  passion  of  Byron,  or  having  nothing  in 
his  nature  that  aspires  to  it ;  finally,  an  artist  so  per 
fect  in  a  widely  extended  range,  that  nothing  of  his 


Summary 
of  the  fore 
going  analy 
sis. 


2OO 


ALFRED   TENNYSON. 


work  can  be  spared,  and,  in  this  respect,  approaching 
Horace  and  outvying  Pope;  not  one  of  the  great 
wits  nearly  allied  to  madness,  yet  possibly  to  be  ac 
cepted  as  a  wiser  poet,  serene  above  the  frenzy  of 
the  storm ;  certainly  to  be  regarded,  in  time  to  come, 
as,  all  in  all,  the  fullest  representative  of  the  refined, 
speculative,  complex  Victorian  age. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


TENNYSON   AND   THEOCRITUS. 

HAVING  acknowledged  Tennyson  as  master  of 
the  idyllic  school,  —  and  having  seen  that  his 
method,  during  the  last  thirty  years,  whatever  its 
strength  or  weakness,  has  been  conspicuous  in  the 
prevailing  form  and  spirit  of  English  verse,  —  it  does 
not  seem  amiss,  in  the  case  of  this  poet,  to  supple 
ment  my  review  of  his  genius  and  works  by  some 
remarks  upon  the  likeness  which  he  bears  to  the 
Dorian  father  of  idyllic  song,  and  upon  the  relations 
of  both  the  ancient  and  modern  poets  to  their  respec 
tive  eras. 

I. 

UNTIL  within  a  very  recent  period,  the  text  of  the 
Greek  idyls  was  not  embraced  in  the  course  of  study 
at  our  foremost  American  colleges.  Nevertheless,  the 
Greek  Reader  which,  a  score  of  years  ago,  was  largely 
in  use  for  the  preparatory  lessons  of  the  high  schools, 
contained,  amidst  an  assorted  lot  of  passages  from 
various  writers,  that  wonderful  elegy,  "The  Epitaph 
of  Bion,"  whose  authorship  is  attributed  to  Moschus. 
The  novelty,  the  beauty,  the  fresh  and  modern  thought 
of  this  undying  poem  were  visible  even  to  the  school- 
fagged  intellect  of  youths  to  whom  poetry  was  a  vague 


Supple 
mental  no 
tice  of  Ten 
nyson  and 
the  idyllic 
school. 


"  The  Epi 
taph  of 
Bion." 
Moschus, 
III. 


202 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


delight.  Well  might  they  be,  for  this  elegy,  —  in 
which  the  pain  and  passion  of  lamentation  for  a 
brother-minstrel  are  sung  in  strains  echoing  those 
which  Bion  himself  had  chanted  in  artificial  sorrow 
for  the  mystic  Adonis,  —  this  perpetual  elegy  was  the 
mould,  if  not  the  inspiration,  of  four  great  English 
dirges :  laments  beyond  which  the  force  of  poetic  an 
guish  can  no  further  go,  and  each  of  which  is  but  a 
later  affirmation  that  the  ancient  pupil  of  Theocritus 
found  the  one  key-note  to  which  all  high  idyllic  elegy 
should  be  attuned  thenceforth. 

Having  made  a  first  acquaintance  with  the  work  of 
Tennyson, —  and  who  does  not  remember  how  new  and 
delicious  the  lyrics  of  the  rising  English  poet  seemed 
to  us,  half  surfeited,  as  we  were,  with  the  fulness  of 
his  predecessors  ?  —  I  could  not  fail  to  observe  a  re 
semblance  between  certain  portions  of  his  verse  and 
the  only  Greek  idyl  which  I  then  knew.  For  exam 
ple,  in  the  use  of  the  elegiac  refrain,  in  the  special 
imagery,  in  the  adaptation  of  landscape  and  color  to 
the  feeling  of  a  poem,  and,  often,  in  the  suggestion  of 
the  feeling  by  the  mere  scenic  effect.  It  was  not  till 
after  that  thorough  knowledge  of  the  English  master's 
art,  which  has  been  no  less  absorbing  and  perilous 
than  instructive  to  the  singers  of  our  period,  that  I 
was  led  to  study  the  entire  relics  of  the  Greek  idyllic 
poets.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  I  became  aware  of 
the  immense  obligations  of  Tennyson  to  Theocritus, 
not  only  for  the  method,  sentiment,  and  purpose,  but 
for  the  very  form  and  language,  which  render  beautiful 
much  of  his  most  widely  celebrated  verse. 

Three  points  were  distinctly  brought  in  view :  — 
i.  The  likeness  of  the  Victorian  to  the  Alexandrian 


DESIGN  OF  THIS  CHAPTER. 


203 


2.  The  close  study  made  by  Tennyson  of  the  Syra- 
cusan  idyls,  resulting  in  the  adjustment  of  their  struc 
ture  to  English  theme   and   composition,    and   in   the 
artistic  imitation  of  their  choicest  passages. 

3.  Hence,  his  own  discovery  of  his  proper  function 
as  a  poet,  and  the  gradual  evolution  and  shaping  of 
his  whole  literary  career. 


II. 

THE  design  of  this  supplemental  chapter  is  to  ex 
hibit  some  of  the  evidences  on  which  the  foregoing 
points  are  taken.  They  may  interest  the  student  of 
comparative  minstrelsy,  as  an  addition  to  his  list  of 
"  Historic  Counterparts  "  in  literature,  and  are  worth 
the  attention  of  that  host  of  readers,  so  wonted  to 
the  faultless  art  of  Tennyson  that  each  trick  and 
turn  of  his  verse,  his  every  image  and  thought,  are 
more  familiar  to  them  than  were  the  sentimental 
ditties  of  Moore  and  the  romantic  cantos  of  Scott 
and  Byron  to  the  poetic  taste  of  an  earlier  genera 
tion.  And  how  few,  indeed,  of  his  pieces  could  we 
spare  !  so  few,  that  when  he  does  trifle  with  his  art 
the  critics  laugh  like  school-boys  delighted  to  catch 
the  master  tripping  for  once ;  not  wholly  sure  but 
that  the  matter  may  be  noble,  because,  forsooth,  he 
composed  it.  Yet  men,  wont  to  fare  sumptuously, 
will  now  and  then  leave  their  delicate  viands  un- 
tasted,  and  hanker  with  lusty  appetite  for  ruder  and 
more  sinewy  fare.  We  turn  again  to  Byron  for  sweep 
and  fervor,  to  Coleridge  and  Shelley  for  the  music 
that  is  divine ;  and  it  is  through  Wordsworth  that 
we  commune  with  the  very  spirits  of  the  woodland 
and  the  misty  mountain  winds. 


Illustration 
of  the  fore 
going  points. 


204 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


It  will  not  harm  the  noble  army  of  verse-readers  to 
be  guided  for  a  moment  to  the  original  fountain  of  that 
stream  from  which  they  take  their  favorite  draughts. 
The  Sicilian  idyls  were  very  familiar  to  the  dramatists 
and  songsters  of  Shakespeare's  time,  and  a  knowledge 
of  them  was  affected,  at  least,  by  the  artificial  jinglers 
of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  Nowa 
days,  we  have  Homer  and  Horace  by  heart;  but  The 
ocritus,  to  most  of  us,  is  but  the  echo  of  a  melodious 
name.  As  the  creator  of  the  fourth  great  order  of 
poetry,  the  composite,  or  idyllic,  he  bears  to  it  the 
relation  of  Homer  to  epic,  Pindar  to  lyric,  ./"Eschylus 
to  dramatic  verse ;  and  if  he  had  not  sung  as  he  sang, 
in  Syracuse  and  Alexandria,  two  thousand  years  ago, 
it  is  doubtful  whether  modern  English  fancy  would 
have  been  under  the  spell  of  that  minstrelsy  by  which 
it  was  of  late  so  justly  and  delightfully  enthralled. 

I  do  not  know  that  any  extended  references  to 
our  topic  were  brought  together  before  the  appear 
ance  of  a  monograph,  by  the  present  writer,  in  which 
the  substance  of  this  chapter  first  appeared  in  print; 
nevertheless,  within  the  last  decade,  during  a  revival 
of  the  study  and  translation  of  the  Greek  poets,  allu 
sions  to  the  relations  of  Tennyson  and  Theocritus 
have  been  made,  and  parallel  passages  occasionally 
noted,  —  as  by  Thackeray  in  his  Anthology,  and  by 
Snow  in  his  appendix  to  the  Clarendon  school  edi 
tion  of  Theocritus,  —  such  waifs  confirming  me  in  my 
recognition  of  the  evidence  on  which  the  foregoing 
statements  are  adventured.  But,  even  now,  many  of 
the  Laureate's  reviewers,  while  noticing  the  "itera 
tion  "  of  his  refrains,  the  arrangement  of  his  idyllic 
songs,  etc.,  seem  to  be  unconscious  of  the  influences 
under  which  these  at  the  outset  were  produced. 


THE  ALEXANDRIAN  AGE. 


205 


Let  us  briefly  consider  the  likeness  of  the  Victorian 
to  the  Alexandrian  age.  The  latter  covered  the  time 
wherein  the  city,  by  which  Alexander  marked  the 
splendor  of  his  western  conquests,  was  the  capital 
of  a  new  Greece,  and  had  grouped  within  it  all  that 
was  left  of  Hellenic  philosophy,  beauty,  and  power. 
Latin  thought  and  imagination  were  still  in  their 
dawning,  and  Alexandria  was  the  centro^-  the  new 
Athens,  of  the  civilized  world.  But  the  period,  if 
not  that  of  a  decadence,  was  reflective,  critical,  schol 
arly,  rather  than  creative  ;  a  comfortable  era,  in  which 
to  live  and  enjoy  the  gathered  harvests  of  what  had 
gone  before.  All  the  previous  history  of  Greece  led 
up  to  the  high  Alexandrian  refinement  Her  litera 
ture  had  completed  a  round  of  four  hundred  years, 
of  which  the  first  three  centuries,  in  the  slower  prog 
ress  of  national  adolescence,  comprised  an  epic  and 
lyric  period,  reaching  from  Homer  and  Hesiod  to 
Anacreon  and  Pindar.  The  remainder  was  the  golden 
Attic  age,  the  time  of  the  Old,  Middle,  and  New 
Comedy,  of  the  dramatists  from  ^Eschylus  to  Aris 
tophanes.  Greek  poetry  then  passed  its  noontide ; 
the  Alexandrian  school  arose,  flourishing  for  two 
centuries  before  the  birth  of  Christ. 

Literary  accomplishments  now  were  widely  diffused. 
There  was  a  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with  ease. 
Tact  and  scholarship  so  abounded,  that  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  draw  the  line  between  talent  and  genius. 
We  see  a  period  of  scholia  and  revised  and  anno 
tated  editions  of  the  elder  writers;  wherein  was  done 
for  Homer,  Plato,  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  what  is 
now  doing  for  Dante,  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe. 
Philology  came  into  being,  and  criticism  began  to 
clog  the  fancy.  Schoell  says  that  "  the  poets  were 


Comparison 
of  the  Victo 
rian  and 
A  lexan- 
drian  eras. 


Cp.  Matter: 
Hist,  de 
PEcole 
d'Alexan- 
drie. 


206 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


deeply  read,  but  wanting  in  imagination,  and  often 
also  in  judgment."  It  was  impossible  for  most  to 
rise  above  the  influence  of  the  time.  Science,  how 
ever,  made  great  strides.  In  material  growth  it  was 
indeed  a  "  wondrous  age,"  an  era  of  inventions, 
travel,  and  discovery :  the  period  of  Euclid  and  Ar 
chimedes  ;  of  Ptolemy  with  his  astronomers  ;  of  Hiero, 
with  his  galleys  long  as  clipper-ships  ;  of  academies, 
museums,  theatres,  lecture-halls,  gymnasia ;  of  a  hun 
dred  philosophies  ;  of  geographers,  botanists,  casuists, 
scholiasts,  reformers,  and  what  not,  —  all  springing 
into  existence  and  finding  support  in  the  luxurious, 
speculative,  bustling,  news-devouring  hurly-burly  of 
that  strangely  modern  Alexandrian  time. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  dwell  upon  the  analogy  which 
my  readers  already  have  drawn  for  themselves.  It 
is  not  an  even  one.  There  is  no  parallel  between 
the  Greek  and  English  languages.  The  former  is 
copious,  but  simple,  and  a  departure  from  the  Attic 
purity  was  in  itself  a  decline  to  vagueness  and  af 
fectation.  Our  own  tongue  grows  richer  and  stronger 
every  year.  Again,  though  England  has  also  passed 
through  great  dramatic  and  lyric  periods,  our  modern 
cycles  are  not  of  antique  duration,  but  are  likely  to 
repeat  themselves  again  and  again.  Our  golden  year 
is  shorter,  and  the  seasons  in  their  turns  come  often 
round.  Nevertheless,  at  the  close  of  the  poetical 
renaissance  which  marked  the  first  quarter  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  English  literature  drifted  into  an 
indecisive,  characterless  period,  bearing  a  resemblance 
to  that  of  Alexandria  when  Ptolemy  Philadelphus 
commenced  his  reign. 

That  liberal  and  ambitious  monarch  confirmed  the 
structure  of  an  empire,  and  made  the  capital  city 


THE  GREEK  IDYLLIC  SCHOOL. 


207 


attractive  and  renowned.  The  wisest  and  most  fa 
mous  scholars  resorted  to  his  court,  but  not  even 
imperial  patronage  could  restore  the  lost  spirit  of 
Greek  creative  art.  There  was  a  single  exception. 
A  poet  of  original  and  abounding  genius,  nurtured 
in  the  beautiful  island  of  Sicily,  where  the  sky  and 
sea  are  bluer,  the  piny  mountains,  with  ^Etna  at 
their  head,  more  kingly,  the  breezes  fresher,  the 
rivulets  more  musical,  and  the  upland  pastures  greener 
than  upon  any  other  shores  which  the  Mediterranean 
borders,  —  such  a  poet  felt  himself  inspired  to  utter 
a  fresh  and  native  melody,  even  in  that  over-learned 
and  bustling  time.  Disdaining  any  feeble  variations 
of  worn-out  themes,  he  saw  that  Greek  poetry  had 
achieved  little  in  the  delineation  of  common,  every 
day  life,  and  so  flung  himself  right  upon  nature, 
which  he  knew  and  reverenced  well ;  and  erelong  the 
pastoral  and  town  idyls  of  Theocritus,  with  their 
amcebean  dialogue  and  elegant  occasional  songs,  won 
the  ear  of  both  the  fashionable  and  critical  worlds. 
Although  his  subjects  were  entirely  novel,  he  availed 
himself,  in  form,  of  all  his  predecessors'  arts ;  com 
posing  in  the  new  Doric,  the  most  liquid,  colloquial, 
and  flexible  of  the  dialects  :  and  thus  he  fashioned 
his  eidullia,  —  little  pictures  of  real  life  upon  the  hill 
side  and  in  the  town,  among  the  high  and  low,  — 
portraying  characters  with  a  few  distinct  touches  in 
lyric,  epic,  or  dramatic  form,  and  often  by  a  com 
bination  of  the  whole.  It  is  not  my  province  here 
to  show  who  were  his  immediate  teachers,  or  from 
what  rude  island  ditties  and  mimes  he  conceived  and 
shaped  his  art;  only,  to  state  that  Theocritus  found 
one  field  of  verse  then  unworked,  and  so  availed 
himself  of  it  as  to  make  it  his  own,  capturing  the 


Theocritus. 


Birth  of  the 
idyl. 


208 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


Kingsley>$ 
"Alexan 
dria,  and  her 
Schools." 


hearts  of  those  who  still  loved  freshness  and  beauty, 
and  forthwith  attaining  such  excellence  that  the  relics 
left  us  by  him  and  two  of  his  pupils  are  even  now 
the  wonder  and  imitation  of  mankind.  A  few  sen 
tences  from  Charles  Kingsley's  reference  to  the  father 
of  idyllic  poetry  tell  the  truth  as  simply  and  clearly 
as  it  can  be  told:  — 

"  One  natural  strain  is  heard  amid  all  this  artificial  jingle, 
—  that  of  Theocritus.  It  is  not  altogether  Alexandrian. 
Its  sweetest  notes  were  learnt  amid  the  chestnut-groves 
and  orchards,  the  volcanic  glens  and  sunny  pastures  of 
Sicily ;  but  the  intercourse  between  the  courts  of  Hiero  and 
the  Ptolemies  seems  to  have  been  continual.  Poets  and 
philosophers  moved  freely  from  one  to  the  other,  and  found 

a  like  atmosphere  in  both One  can  well  conceive  the 

delight  which  his  idyls  must  have  given  to  the  dusty  Alex 
andrians,  pent  up  forever  between  sea  and  sand-hills,  drink 
ing  the  tank-water  and  never  hearing  the  sound  of  a  run 
ning  stream ;  whirling,  too,  forever,  in  all  the  bustle  and 
intrigue  of  a  great  commercial  and  literary  city.  To  them 
and  to  us  also.  I  believe  Theocritus  is  one  of  the  poets 
who  will  never  die.  He  sees  men  and  things,  in  his  own 
light  way,  truly;  and  he  describes  them  simply,  honestly, 
with  little  careless  touches  of  pathos  and  humor,  while  he 
floods  his  whole  scene  with  that  gorgeous  Sicilian  air,  like 
one  of  Titian's  pictures;  ....  and  all  this  told  in  a  lan 
guage  and  a  metre  which  shapes  itself  almost  unconsciously, 
wave  after  wave,  into  the  most  luscious  song." 

It  was  in  this  wise  that  Theocritus  founded  and 
endowed  the  Greek  idyllic  school.  Let  us  see  how 
Tennyson,  living  in  a  somewhat  analogous  period, 
may  be  compared  with  him.  How  far  has  the  repre 
sentative  idyllist  of  the  nineteenth  century  profited 
by  the  example  of  his  prototype?  To  what  extent  is 
the  one  indebted  to  the  other  for  the  structure,  the 


GROWTH  OF  THE  LAUREATE'S  STYLE. 


209 


manner,  it  may  be  even  the  matter,  of  many  of  his 
poems  ? 

We  are  uninformed  of  the  year  in  which  the  boy 
Tennyson  was  entered  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
but  find  him  there  in  1829,  taking  the  chancellor's 
gold  medal  for  English  verse  ;  this  by  the  poem  "  Tim- 
buctoo,"  a  creditable  performance  for  a  lad  of  nine 
teen,  and  favored  with  the  approval  of  the  "Athenaeum." 
It  was  thought  to  show  traces  of  Milton,  Shelley,  and 
Wordsworth.  In  the  years  1826-1829  a  Cambridge 
reprint  was  made  of  the  Kiessling  edition  of  Theoc 
ritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus,  including  a  Doric  Lexicon, 
the  whole  in  two  octavo  volumes ;  an  excellent  text 
and  commentary,  and  altogether  the  most  noticeable 
English  edition  of  the  Sicilian  poets  since  that  superb 
Oxford  Theocritus,  edited  by  the  laureate,  Warton, 
which  appeared  in  1770.  The  publication  of  a  Cam 
bridge  text  must  have  directed  unusual  attention  to 
the  study  of  these  classics,  and  if  Tennyson  did  not 
place  them  upon  his  list  for  the  public  examinations, 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  he  at  this  time  famil 
iarized  himself  with  their  difficult  and  exquisite  verse. 
His  present  admiration  of  them  is  well  known. 

I  have  shown  that  in  his  early  poems  we  find  an 
open  loyalty  to  Wordsworth's  canon  of  reliance  upon 
nature,  and  occasionally  Wordsworth's  mannerism 
and  language,  with  something  of  the  music  of  Shelley 
and  the  sensuous  beauty  of  Keats.  A  study  of  old 
English  ballad-poetry  is  also  apparent.  The  influence 
of  the  great  Italian  poets  is  quite  marked  ;  whether 
by  reflection  from  the  Chaucerian  and  Elizabethan 
periods,  or  by  more  direct  absorption,  it  is  difficult  to 
pronounce.  The  truth  was,  that  the  poet  began  his 
career  at  an  intercalary,  transition  period.  To  quote 


210 


TENNYSON  AND    THEOCRITUS. 


from  a  eulogistic  book-note  by  E.  A.  Poe :  "  Matters 
were  now  verging  to  their  worst ;  and,  at  length,  in 
Tennyson,  poetic  inconsistency  attained  its  extreme. 
But  it  was  precisely  this  extreme  which  wrought 
in  him  a  natural  and  inevitable  revulsion ;  leading 
him  first  to  contemn,  and  secondly  to  investigate, 
his  early  manner,  and  finally  to  winnow  from  its 
magnificent  elements  the  truest  and  purest  of  all  po 
etical  styles." 

In  all  that  concerns  form  the  young  poet  soon 
found  himself  in  sympathy  with  the  Greek  idyllic 
compositions.  He  saw  the  opportunity  for  work 
after  these  models,  and  willingly  yielded  himself  to 
their  beautiful  influence.  It  has  never  left  him,  but 
is  present  in  his  latest  and  most  sustained  produc 
tions.  But  there  is  a  difference  between  his  maturer 
work — which  is  the  adjustment  of  the  idyllic  method 
to  native,  modern  conceptions,  with  a  delightful  pres 
entation  of  English  landscape  and  atmosphere,  and 
the  manners  and  dialects  of  English  life  —  and  the 
experimental,  early  poems,  which  were  written  upon 
antique  themes.  Of  these  "  CEnone  "  and  "  The  Lotos- 
Eaters"  appeared  in  the  collection  of  1832,  and  in 
the  same  volume  are  other  poems  appealing  more 
directly  to  modern  sympathies,  which  show  traces  of 
the  master  with  whom  Tennyson  had  put  his  genius 
to  school. 


III. 

THERE  are  two  modes  in  which  the  workmanship 
of  one  poet  may  resemble  that  of  another.  The  first, 
while  not  subjecting  an  author  to  the  charge  of  direct 
appropriation,  in  the  vulgar  sense  of  plagiarism,  is 


AND  'GODIVA? 


211 


detected  by  critical  analogy,  and,  of  the  two,  is  more 
easily  recognized  by  the  skilled  reader.  It  is  the 
mode  which  involves  either  a  sympathetic  treatment 
of  rhythmical  breaks,  pauses,  accents,  alliterations ; 
a  correspondence  of  the  architecture  of  two  poems; 
with  parallel  interludes  and  effects ;  correspondence 
of  theme,  allowing  for  difference  of  place  and  period ; 
or,  a  correspondence  of  scenic  and  metrical  purpose ; 
in  fine,  general  analogy  of  atmosphere  and  tone. 
The  second,  more  obvious  and  commonplace,  mode 
is  that  displaying  immediate  coincidence  of  structure, 
language,  and  thought ;  a  mode  which,  in  the  hands 
of  inferior  men,  leaves  the  users  at  the  mercy  of  their 
dullest  reviewers. 

A  citation  of  passages,  exemplifying  these  two  kinds 
of  resemblance  between  the  Sicilian  idyls  and  the 
poetry  of  Tennyson,  will  confirm  and  illustrate  the 
statements  upon  which  this  chapter  is  based.  The 
instance  first  set  forth  is  that  of  a  general,  and  not 
the  special,  likeness ;  but  no  subsequent  attempt  is 
made  to  classify  the  obligations  of  our  modern  poet 
to  the  ancient,  as  it  is  believed  that  the  reader  will 
easily  distinguish  for  himself  the  significant  analogies 
in  each  collection. 

"Hylas,"  the  celebrated  thirteenth  idyl  of  Theoc 
ritus,  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  which  have  come 
down  to  our  time.  It  is  not  a  bucolic  poem,  but 
classified  as  narrative  or  semi-epic  in  character,  yet 
exhibits  many  touches  of  the  bucolic  sweetness ;  is  a 
poem  of  seventy-five  verses,  written  in  the  honey- 
flowing  pastoral  hexameter,  so  distinct,  in  caesura 
and  dactylic  structure,  from  the  verse  of  Homer,  and 
commencing  thus :  — 


"Hylas" 
and  "  Go- 
diva,." 


212 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


"Not  only  for  ourselves  the  God  begat 
Eros  —  whoever,  Nicias,  was  his  sire  — 
As  once  we  thought ;  nor  unto  us  the  first 
Have  lovely  things  seemed  lovely ;  not  to  us 
Mortals,  who  cannot  see  beyond  a  day; 
But  he,  that  heart  of  brass,  Amphitryon's  son, 
Who  braved  the  ruthless  lion,  —  he,  too,  loved 
A  youth,  the  graceful  Hylas."  J 

As  a  counterpart  to  this,  and  directly  modelled 
upon  it  in  form,  take  the  "  Godiva "  of  Tennyson,  — 
that  lovely  and  faultless  poem,  whose  rhythm  is  full 
of  the  melodious  quality  which  gives  specific  distinc 
tion  to  the  Laureate's  blank-verse ;  a  "  flower,"  of 
which  so  many  followers  now  have  the  "  seed "  that 
it  has  taken  its  place  as  the  standard  idyllic  meas 
ure  of  our  language. 

"  Godiva "  is  a  narrative  or  semi-epic  idyl,  which, 
like  the  "  Hylas,"  contains  —  after  a  didactic  pre 
lude,  divided  from  the  story  proper — just  seventy-five 
verses,  and  commences  thus :  — 

"  Not  only  we,  the  latest  seed  of  time, 
New  men,  that  in  the  flying  of  a  wheel 


1  This  translation,  and  many  which  follow,  I  have  rendered  in 
blank-verse,  not  because  I  deem  that  measure  at  all  adequate 
in  effect  to  the  original.  But  even  a  tolerable  version  in  "  Eng 
lish  hexameter"  would  require  more  labor  than  is  needful  for 
our  immediate  purpose ;  and  again,  blank-verse  is  the  form  in 
which  the  English  poet  chiefly  has  availed  himself  of  his  Dorian 
models.  I  have  translated  most  of  the  passages  as  rapidly  as 
possible ;  only  taking  care,  first,  that  my  versions  should  be  lit 
eral  ;  secondly,  that  by  no  artifice  they  should  seem  to  resemble 
the  work  of  Tennyson  any  more  closely  than  in  fact  they  do. 

Scholars  will  recall  the  fact  that  the  text  of  the  Bucolicorum 
Grcccorum  Reliquice  is  greatly  in  dispute.  In  some  instances  the 
editions  which  I  have  followed  may  differ  from  their  wonted 
readings. 


CENONE: 


213 


Cry  down  the  past,  not  only  we,  that  prate 

Of  rights  and  wrongs,  have  loved  the  people  well, 

And  loathed  to  see  them  overtaxed ;  but  she 

Did  more,  and  underwent,  and  overcame, 

The  woman  of  a  thousand  summers  back, 

Godiva,  wife  to  that  grim  Earl,  who  ruled 

In  Coventry  —  " 

But  it  is  in  the  "  (Enone  "  that  we  discover  Tenny 
son's  earliest  adaptation  of  that  refrain  which  was  a 
striking  beauty  of  the  pastoral  elegiac  verse. 

"  O  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die," 
is  the  analogue  of  (Theocr.,  II.) 

"  See  thou,  whence  came  my  love,  O  lady  Moon  "  ; 

of  the  refrain  to  the  lament  of  Daphnis  (Theocr.,  I.), 

"  Begin,  dear  Muse,  begin  the  woodland  song  "  ; 

and  of  the  recurrent  wail  in  the  "Epitaph  of  Bion" 
(Mosch.,  III.), 

"  Begin,  Sicilian  Muses,  begin  the  song  of  your  sorrow ! " 

Throughout  the  poem  the  Syracusan  manner  and  feel 
ing  are  strictly  and  nobly  maintained ;  and,  while  we 
are  considering  "  CEnone,"  a  few  points  of  more  exact 
resemblance  may  be  noted :  — 

The  Thalysia  (Theocr.,  VII.  21-23). 
"Whither  at  noonday  dost  thou  drag  thy  feet? 
For  now  the  lizard  sleeps  upon  the  wall, 
The  crested  lark  is  wandering  no  more  — " 

The  Enchantress  (Theocr.,  II.  38-41). 
"  Lo,  now  the  sea  is  silent,  and  the  winds 
Are  hushed.     Not  silent  is  the  wretchedness 
Within  my  breast ;  but  I  am  all  aflame 
With  love  for  him  who  made  me  thus  forlorn,  — 
A  thing  of  evil,  neither  maid  nor  wife." 


1  CEnone." 


The  elegiac 
refrain. 


214 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


"  The  Lotos- 
Eaters." 


The  Young  Herdsman  (Theocr.,  XX.   19,  20;  30,  31). 

"  O  shepherds,  tell  me  truth  !     Am  I  not  fair  ? 
Hath  some  god  made  me,  then,  from  what  I  was, 
Off-hand,  another  being  ?  .  .  .  . 
Along  the  mountains  all  the  women  call 
Me  beautiful,  all  love  me." 

(Enone. 

"  For  now  the  noonday  quiet  holds  the  hill  : 
The  grasshopper  is  silent  in  the  grass  : 
The  lizard,  with  his  shadow  on  the  stone, 
Rests  like  a  shadow,  and  the  cicala  sleeps. 
The  purple  flowers  droop  :  the  golden  bee 
Is  lily-cradled  :  I  alone  awake. 
My  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  love,1 
My  heart  is  breaking,  and  my  eyes  are  dim, 
And  I  am  all  aweary  of  my  life. 

"  Yet,  mother  Ida,  hearken  ere  I  die. 
Fairest  —  why  fairest  wife  ?     Am  I  not  fair  ? 
My  love  hath  told  me  so  a  thousand  times. 
Methinks  I  must  be  fair,  for  yesterday,"  etc. 

"The  Lotos-Eaters,"  another  imaginative  present 
ment  of  an  antique  theme,  —  full  of  Tennyson's  ex 
cellences,  no  less  than  of  early  mannerisms  since  fore 
gone, —  while  Gothic  in  some  respects,  is  charged 
from  beginning  to  end  with  the  effects  and  very  lan 
guage  of  the  Greek  pastoral  poets.  As  in  "(Enone," 
there  is  no  consecutive  imitation  of  any  one  idyl ;  but 
the  work  is  curiously  filled  out  with  passages  bor 
rowed  here  and  there,  as  the  growth  of  the  poem 
recalled  them  at  random  to  the  author's  mind.  The 
idyls  of  Theocritus  often  have  been  subjected  to  this 


'  Mine  eyes  are  full  of  tears,  my  heart  of  grief." 

Second  Part  of  King  Henrv  VI.,  Act  II.  Sc.  3. 


'THE  LOTOS-EATERS: 


215 


process ;  first,  by  Virgil,  in  several  of  whose  eclogues 
the  component  parts  were  culled  from  his  master,  as 
one  selects  from  a  flower-plot  a  white  rose,  a  red, 
and  then  a  sprig  of  green,  to  suit  the  exigencies  of 
color,  while  the  wreath  grows  under  the  hand.  Pope, 
among  moderns,  has  followed  the  method  of  Virgil, 
as  may  be  observed  in  either  of  his  four  "  Pastorals." 
The  process  used  by  Pope  is  tame,  artificial,  and 
avowed ;  in  "  The  Lotos-Eaters "  it  is  subtile,  mas 
terly,  yet  of  a  completeness  which  only  parallel  quo 
tations  can  display. 

The  Argonauts  (Theocr.,  XIII.)  come  in  the  after 
noon  unto  a  land  of  cliffs  and  thickets  and  streams ; 
of  meadows  set  with  sedge,  whence  they  cut  for  their 
couches  sharp  flowering-rush  and  the  low  galingale. 
"In  the  afternoon"  the  Lotos-Eaters  "come  unto  a 
land  "  where 

"Through  mountain  clefts  the  dale 
Was  seen  far  inland,  and  the  yellow  down 
Bordered  with  palm,  and  many  a  winding  vale 
And  meadow,  set  with  slender  galingale." 

Except  the  landscape,  all  this,  in  either  poem,  is  after 
Homer,  from  the  ninth  book  of  the  Odyssey.  The 
"  Choric  Song  "  follows,  of  them  to  whom 

"  Evermore 

Most  weary  seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam  " ; 

and  in  this,  the  feature  of  the  poem,  are  certain  coin 
cidences  to  which  I  refer:  — 

Europa  (Mosch.,  II.  3,  4). 

"When  Sleep,  that  sweeter  on  the  eyelids  lies 
Than  honey,  and  doth  fetter  down  the  eyes 
With  gentle  bond." 


A  culling 
process. 


216 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


The  Wayfarers  (Theocr.,  V.  50,  51). 
"  Here,  if  you  come,  your  feet  shall  tread  on  wool, 
The  fleece  of  lambs,  softer  than  downy  Sleep." 

Ibid.  (45-49)- 

"Here  are  the  oaks,  and  here  is  galingale, 
Here  bees  are  sweetly  humming  near  their  hives; 
Here  are  twin  fountains  of  cool  water;  here 
The  birds  are  prattling  on  the  trees,  —  the  shade 
Is  deeper  than  beyond;  and  here  the  pine 
From  overhead  casts  down  to  us  its  cones." 

Ibid.  (31,  34). 

"  More  sweetly  will  you  sing 
Propt  underneath  the  olive,  in  these  groves. 
Here  are  cool  waters  plashing  down,  and  here 
The  grasses  spring ;  and  here,  too,  is  a  bed 
Of  leafage,  and  the  locusts  babble  here." 

The  Choice  (Mosch.,  V.  4-13). 

'When  the  gray  deep  has  sounded,  and  the  sea 
Climbs  up  in  foam  and  far  the  loud  waves  roar, 
I  seek  for  land  and  trees,  and  flee  the  brine, 
And  earth  to  me  is  welcome  :  the  dark  wood 
Delights  me,  where,  although  the  great  wind  blow, 
The  pine-tree  sings.     An  evil  life  indeed 
The  fisherman's,  whose  vessel  is  his  home, 
The  sea  his  toil,  the  fish  his  wandering  prey. 
But  sweet  to  me  to  sleep  beneath  the  plane 
Thick-leaved ;  and  near  me  I  would  love  to  hear 
The  babble  of  the  spring,  that  murmuring 
Perturbs  him  not,  but  is  the  woodman's  joy." 

The  Lotos-Eaters. 

"Music,  that  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies 
Than  tired  eyelids  upon  tired  eyes  ; 
Music  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the  blissful  skies. 

"  Here  are  cool  mosses  deep, 
And  through  the  moss  the  ivies  creep, 


THE  LAUREATE'S  ENGLISH  IDYLS. 


217 


And  in  the  stream  the  long-leaved  flowers  weep, 
And  from  the  craggy  ledge  the  poppy  hangs  in  sleep. 

Lo !  sweetened  with  the  summer  light 
The  full-juiced  apple,  waxen  over-mellow, 
Drops  in  a  silent  autumn  night. 

But,  propt  on  beds  of  amaranth  and  moly, 

How  sweet  (while  warm  airs  lull  us,  blowing  lowly) 

To  watch  the  emerald-colored  water  falling 

Through  many  a  woven  acanthus-wreath  divine  ! 

Only  to  hear  and  see  the  far-off  sparkling  brine, 

Only  to  hear  were  sweet,  stretched  out  beneath  the  pine. 

Hateful  is  the  dark  blue  sky, 
Vaulted  o'er  the  dark  blue  sea. 

Is  there  any  peace 
In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 

All  day  the  wind  breathes  low  with  mellower  tone. 

How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward  stream, 
With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half-dream." 

Dismissing  these  two  poems,  the  earlier  of  Tenny 
son's  experiments  upon  classical  myths,  let  us  look  at 
another  class  of  idyls,  wherein  the  Theocritan  method 
is  adapted  to  modern  themes ;  where  the  form  is  Do 
rian,  but  the  feeling,  color,  and  thought  are  thoroughly 
and  naturally  English.  Of  "Godiva"  I  have  already 
spoken,  and  the  Laureate's  rural  compositions  in 
blank-verse  are  directly  in  point,  reflecting  every  fea 
ture  of  the  so-called  "  pastoral  idyls  "  of  Theocritus. 
"  The  Gardener's  Daughter,"  "  Audley  Court,"  "  Walk- 
10 


His  modern 
idyls. 


218 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


The  isomet 
ric  song. 


A  mcebean 
contests. 


ing  to  the  Mail,"  "  Edwin  Morris,  or  the  Lake,"  and 
"The  Golden  Year"  are  modelled  upon  such  patterns 
as  "  The  Thalysia,"  "  The  Singers  of  Pastorals,"  "  The 
Rival  Singers,"  and  "The  Triumph  of  Daphnis."  In 
all  of  them,  cultured  and  country-loving  friends  are 
sauntering,  resting,  singing,  sometimes  lunching  in 
the  open  air  among  the  hills,  the  waters,  and  the 
woods ;  in  all  of  them  there  is  dialogue,  healthful 
philosophy,  a  wealth  of  atmosphere  and  color  -}  and 
in  nearly  all  we  see  for  the  first  time  successfully 
handled  in  English  and  made  really  melodious  the 
true  isometric  song  as  found  in  Theocritus.  The  effects 
of  this  are  not  produced  by  any  change  to  a  strictly 
lyrical  measure,  but  it  is  composed  in  the  metre  of 
the  whole  poem ;  the  Greek,  of  course,  in  hexam 
eter,  the  English,  in  unrhymed  iambic-pentameter 
verse.  Still,  it  is  a  song,  with  stanzaic  divisions  into 
distiches,  triplets,  quatrains,  etc.,  as  the  case  may  be. 
As  in  Theocritus,  so  in  Tennyson,  two  songs  by  rival 
comrades  sometimes  are  balanced  against  each  other: 
a  love-ditty  against  a  proverbial  or  worldly-wise  lyric, 
—  the  latter,  in  the  modern  idyl,  frequently  rising  to 
the  height  of  modern  faith  and  progress.  These 
"  blank-verse  songs,"  as  they  are  termed,  are  a  spe 
cial  beauty  of  the  Laureate's  verse.  Where  each 
stanza  has  a  refrain  or  burden,  as  in  "  Tears,  idle 
tears,"  "  Our  enemies  have  fallen,  have  fallen,"  etc., 
they  partake  both  of  the  bucolic  and  elegiac  manner ; 
but  elsewhere  Tennyson's  personages  discourse  against 
each  other  as  in  the  eclogues  proper.  For  example, 
the  two  songs  in  "  Audley  Court," 

"  Ah !  who  would  fight  and  march  and  countermarch  ? " 
"  Sleep,  Ellen  Aubrey,  sleep  and  dream  of  me  ! " 


ISOMETRIC  SONG. 


219 


are  the  Doppclganger^  so  to  speak,  of  the  ditties  sung 
respectively  by  Milo  and  Battus,  in  "  The  Harvesters  ' 
(Theocr.,  X.).  Thirteen  of  these  songs,  many  of  them 
in  "  riddling  triplets  of  old  time,"  are  scattered  through 
"Audley  Court,"  "The  Golden  Year,"  "The  Prin 
cess,"  and  the  completed  "  Idyls  of  the  King."  And 
where  Tennyson's  rustic  and  civic  graduates  content 
themselves  with  jest  and  debate,  it  is  after  a  semi- 
amcebean  fashion,  which  no  student  of  the  Syracusan 
idyls  can  fail  to  recognize. 

Even  in  "  The  Gardener's  Daughter  "  there  are  pas 
sages  which  respond  to  the  verse  of  Theocritus.  That 
simply  perfect  idyl,  "  Dora,"  and  such  pieces  as  "  The 
Brook "  and  "  Sea-Dreams,"  are  more  original,  yet 
the  legitimate  outgrowth  of  the  antique  school.  The 
blank-verse  idyls  of  Tennyson,  though  connecting  him 
with  Theocritus,  do  not  establish  a  ratio  between  the 
relations  of  the  ancient  and  the  modern  poet  to  their 
respective  periods.  The  Laureate  is  a  more  genuine, 
because  more  independent  and  English,  idyllist  and 
lyrist  in  "The  May  Queen,"  "The  Miller's  Daugh 
ter,"  "The  Talking  Oak,"  "The  Grandmother,"  and 
"Northern  Farmer,  Old  Style."  Theocritus  created  his 
own  school,  with  no  models  except  those  obtainable 
from  the  popular  mimes  and  catches  of  his  own  re 
gion ;  just  as  Burns,  availing  himself  of  the  simple 
Scottish  ballads,  lifted  the  poetry  of  Scotland  to  an 
eminent  and  winsome  individuality. 


IV. 

THE  co-relations  of  Theocritus  and  Tennyson  lie  in 
the  fact  that  our  poet  discovered  years  ago  that  a 
period  had  arrived  for  poetry  of  the  idyllic  or  com- 


"  The  May 
Qtteen,""  etc. 


Burns. 


Theocritus 
znd  Ten- 
tyson. 


22O 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


The  Swal 
low  Song. 


posite  order;  and  that  much  of  the  manner,  form, 
and  language  of  the  latter  is  directly  taken  from  the 
former.  Mr.  Tennyson's  maturer  poems,  "  The  Prin 
cess  "  and  "  The  Idyls  of  the  King,"  are  written 
Dorian-wise.  "  The  Holy  Grail "  and  its  associate 
legendary  pieces  occupy  the  same  position  in  his  life- 
work  which  those  semi-epic  poems,  "  The  Dioscuri," 
"The  Infant  Heracles,"  and  "Heracles  the  Lion- 
Slayer  "  hold  in  the  relics  of  Theocritus.  The 
"  Morte  d'Arthur  "  is  written  as  he  would  have  trans 
lated  Homer,  judging  from  his  version  of  a  passage 
in  the  Iliad,  and  was  composed  years  before  the  other 
"  Idyls  of  the  King,"  and  in  a  noticeably  different 
style.  For  all  this,  —  especially  in  the  speech  of  the 
departing  Arthur,  —  it  is  semi-idyllic,  to  say  the  least ; 
a  grand  poem,  a  chant  without  a  discord,  strong 
throughout  with  ringing,  monosyllabic  Saxon  verse. 

The  Swallow  Song,  in  "  The  Princess,"  is  modelled 
upon  the  isometric  songs  in  the  third  and  eleventh 
idyls  of  Theocritus,  bearing  a  special  likeness  to  the 
lover's  serenade  in  Idyl  III.,  as  divided  by  Ahrens 
and  others  into  stanzas  of  three  verses  each.  There 
is  also  some  correspondence  of  imagery :  — 

The  Serenade  (Theocr.,  III.  12-14). 

"  Would  that  I  were 

The  humming-bee,  to  pass  within  thy  cave, 
Thridding  the  ivy  and  the  feather-fern 
By  which  thou  'rt  hidden." 

Cyclops  (Theocr.,  XL  54-57). 
"  O  that  I  had  been  born  a  thing  with  fins 
To  sink  anear  thee,  and  to  kiss  thy  hands,  — 
If  thou  deniedst  thy  mouth,  —  and  now  to  bring 
White  lilies  to  thee,  and  the  red-leaved  bloom 
Of  tender  poppies !  " 


MINOR  RESEMBLANCES. 


221 


The  Princess  (Book  IV.). 

"  O  Swallow,  Swallow,  if  I  could  follow,  and  light 
Upon  her  lattice,  I  would  pipe  and  trill, 
And  chirp  and  twitter  twenty  million  loves." 

"  O  were  I  thou  that  she  might  take  me  in, 
And  lay  me  in  her  bosom,  and  her  heart 
Would  rock  the  snowy  cradle  till  I  died." 

Throughout  the  work  of  Tennyson  we  meet  with 
isolated  passages  which  also  seem  to  be  reflections  or 
reminiscences  of  verses  in  the  relics  of  the  Syracusan 
triad.  Where  the  thought  or  image  of  such  a  passage 
is  of  a  familiar  type,  common  to  many  classical  writers, 
there  is  often  a  flavor  about  it  to  indicate  that  its  im 
mediate  inspiration  was  caught  from  Theocritus,  Bion, 
or  Moschus.  One  of  the  following  comparisons,  how 
ever,  can  only  be  made  between  the  two  poets  from 
whom  it  is  derived.  Many  have  been  struck  by  the 
novelty,  no  less  than  the  fitness,  of  an  image  which 
I  will  quote  from  "Enid."  Nothing  in  earlier  Eng 
lish  poetry  suggests  it,  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  a 
conceit,  which,  with  a  shade  of  difference,  is  so  akin, 
in  the  semi-epic  fragment  of  "The  Dioscuri."  The 
modern  verse  and  image  are  the  more  excellent :  — 

The  Dioscuri  (Theocr.,  XXII.  46-50). 

"His  massive  breast  and  back  were  rounded  high 
With  flesh  of  iron,  like  that  of  which  is  wrought 
A  forged  colossus.     On  his  stalwart  arms, 
Sheer  over  the  huge  shoulder,  standing  out 
Were  muscles,  —  like  the  rolled  and  spheric  stones, 
Which,  in  its  mighty  eddies  whirling  on, 
The  winter-flowing  stream  hath  worn  right  smooth 
This  side  and  that." 


Miscellane 
ous  passages 
selected  for 
comparison. 


222 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


Enid. 

"  And  bared  the  knotted  column  of  his  throat, 
The  massive  square  of  his  heroic  breast, 
And  arms  on  which  the  standing  muscle  sloped 
As  slopes  a  wild  brook  o'er  a  little  stone, 
Running  too  vehemently  to  break  upon  it." 

Pastorals  (Theocr.,  IX.  31,  32). 
"Dear  is  cicala  to  cicala,  dear 
The  ant  to  ant,  and  hawk  to  hawk,  but  I 
Hold  only  dear  to  me  the  Muse  and  Song." 

The  Princess  (Book  III.). 

"  '  The  crane,'  I  said,  '  may  chatter  of  the  crane, 
The  dove  may  murmur  of  the  dove,  but  I 
An  eagle  clang  an  eagle  to  the  sphere.'  " 

The  Syracusan  Gossips  (Theocr.,  XV.  102-105). 
"  How  fair  to  thee  the  gentle-footed  Hours 
Have  brought  Adonis  back  from  Acheron  ! 
Sweet  Hours,  and  slowest  of  the  Blessed  Ones  : 
But  still  they  come  desired,  and  ever  bring 
Gifts  to  all  mortals."  T 

Love  and  Duty. 

"  The  slow,  sweet  Hours  that  bring  us  all  things  good, 
The  slow,  sad  Hours  that  bring  us  all  things  ill, 
And  all  things  good  from  evil." 


The  Bridal  of  Helen  (Theocr.,  XVIII.  47,  48). 
"  In  Dorian  letters  on  the  bark 
We  '11  carve  for  men  to  see, 
Pay  honor  to  me,  all  who  mark, 
For  I  am  Helen's  tree" 

"  I  thought  how  once  Theocritus  had  sung 
Of  the  sweet  years,  the  dear  and  wished-for  years, 
Who  each  one  in  a  gracious  hand  appears 
To  bear  a  gift  for  mortals,  old  or  young." 

MRS.  BROWNING,  Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese. 


MINOR  RESEMBLANCES. 


223 


The  Talking  Oak. 

"But  tell  me,  did  he  read  the  name 

I  carved  with  many  vows, 
When  last  with  throbbing  heart  I  came 
To  rest  beneath  thy  boughs  ? 

"And  I  will  work  in  prose  and  rhyme, 

And  praise  thee  more  in  both, 
Than  bard  has  honored  beech  or  lime,"  etc. 


The  Little  Heracles  (Theocr.  XXIV.,  7-9). 

(Alcmene's  Lullaby.) 

"  Sleep  ye,  my  babes,  a  sweet  and  healthful  sleep ! 
Sleep  safe,  ye  brothers  twain  that  are  my  life : 
Sleep,  happy  now,  and  happy  wake  at  morn." 

"  Cradle  Song,"  in  The  Princess. 
"  Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ! 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 
Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ! 

Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep." 


Epitaph  of  B ion  (Mosch.,  III.  68,  69). 

"Thee  Cypris  holds  more  dear  than  that  last  kiss 
She  gave  Adonis,  as  he  lay  a-dying." 

Tears,  Idle  Tears. 
"Dear  as  remembered  kisses  after  death." 


Bion  (III.  16). 
"  Where  neither  cold  of  frost,  nor  sun,  doth  harm  us.' 

Morte  d"1  Arthur. 
"  Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow." 


224 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


C>.,  also, 
Tibul.  III. 
4.  31  and 
Catul. 
LXII. 

20  -  23. 


The  Triumph  of  Daphnis  (Theocr.,  VIII.  90,  91). 
"  But  as  the  other  pined,  and  in  his  heart 
Smouldered  with  grief,  even  so  a  girl  betrothed 
Still  feels  regret." 

("  A  maid  first  parting  from  her  home  might  wear  as  sad  a  face." 
—  Calverley's  Transl.) 

In  Memoriam  (XXXIX.). 
"  When  crowned  with  blessing  she  doth  rise 
To  take  her  latest  leave  of  home, 
And  hopes  and  light  regrets  that  come 
Make  April  of  her  tender  eyes." 

The  Distaff  (Theocr.,  XXVIII.  24,  25). 
"  For,  seeing  thee,  one  to  his  friend  shall  say : 
Lo,  what  a  grace  enriches  this  poor  gift ! 
All  gifts  from  friends  are  ever  gifts  of  worth." 

Elaine. 

"  Diamonds  for  me  !  they  had  been  thrice  their  worth. 
Being  your  gift,  had  you  not  lost  your  own. 
To  loyal  hearts  the  value  of  all  gifts 
Must  vary  as  the  giver's."  * 

Cyclops  (Theocr.,  XL  25-29). 

(Love  at  first  sight.) 

"For  I  have  loved  you,  maiden,  since  you  first, 
A-gathering  hyacinths  from  yonder  mount, 
Came  with  my  mother,  and  I  was  your  guide. 
So,  having  seen  you  once,  I  could  not  cease 
To  love  you  from  that  time,  nor  can  I  now." 

The  Gardener's  Daughter. 
"But  she,  a  rose 
In  roses,  mingled  with  her  fragrant  toil, 


But  see,  also,  Hamlet  (III.  i):  — 

"  And  with  them,  words  of  so  sweet  breath  composed 
As  made  the  things  more  rich  :  their  perfume  lost, 
Take  these  again  ;  for  to  the  noble  mind 
Rich  gifts  wax  poor,  when  givers  prove  unkind." 


MINOR  RESEMBLANCES. 


22$ 


Nor  heard  us  come,  nor  from  her  tendance  turned 

Into  the  world  without 

So  home  I  went,  but  could  not  sleep  for  joy, 
Reading  her  perfect  features  in  the  gloom. 

Love  at  first  sight,  first-born  and  heir  of  all, 
Made  this  night  thus." 

There  are  passages  of  another  class,  in  Mr.  Ten 
nyson's  verse,  which  bear  a  common  likeness  to  the 
work  of  various  classical  poets,  his  university  studies 
retaining  their  influence  over  him  through  life.  In 
some  of  these,  by  brief  touches,  he  reproduces  the 
whole  picture  of  a  Greek  idyl :  — 

Europa  (Mosch.,  II.   125-130). 
"  But  she,  upon  the  ox-like  back  of  Zeus 
Sitting,  with  one  hand  held  the  bull's  great  horn, 
And  with  the  other  her  garment's  purple  fold 
Drew  upward,  that  the  infinite  hoary  spray 
Of  the  salt  ocean  might  not  drench  it  through  ; 
The  while  Europa's  mantle  by  the  winds 
Was  filled  and  swollen  like  a  vessel's  sail, 
Buoying  the  maiden  onward." 

The  Palace  of  Art. 

"  Or  sweet  Europa's  mantle  blew  unclasped 
From  off  her  shoulder  backward  borne  : 
From  one  hand  drooped  a  crocus ;  one  hand  grasped 
The  wild  bull's  golden  horn." 

Elsewhere,  in  the  "  Europa,"  the  heroine  is  said  to 
"shine  most  eminent,  as  the  Foam-Born  among  her 
Graces  three."  Tennyson's  classical  feeling  is  so 
strong,  that,  in  the  closing  scene  of  "  The  Princess," 
at  the  height  of  his  dramatic  passion,  he  stops  to 
draw  a  picture  of  Aphrodite  coming  "from  barren 
deeps  to  conquer  all  with  love,"  and  follows  the  god- 
10*  o 


Minor  re 
semblances. 


226 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


dess  even  to  her  Graces,  who  "decked  her  out  for 
worship  without  end."  Both  the  ancient  and  modern 
idyllists  are  mindful  of  the  second  Homeric  Hymn 
to  Aphrodite  ;  and  the  excursus  of  the  latter  poet  is 
so  beautiful  that  we  forgive  him  for  delaying  the 
Action  of  his  poem.  In  his  other  classical  allusions 
such  phrases  as  "the  cold-crowned  snake,"  "the 
charm  of  married  brows,"  "softer  than  sleep,"  "like 
a  dog  he  hunts  in  dreams,"  "  thou  comest,  much 
wept  for  !  "  and  "  sneeze  out  a  full  God-bless-you  right 
and  left,"  repeat  not  only  the  language  of  Theocritus 
and  his  pupils,  but  of  Homer,  Anacreon,  and  the 
Latin  Lucretius  and  Catullus. 

The  lover's  song,  "It  is  the  Miller's  Daughter,"  is 
an  exquisite  imitation  of  the  sixteenth  ode  of  Anac 
reon.  Often,  however,  the  Laureate  enriches  his  ro 
mantic  and  epic  poems  with  effects  borrowed  from 
Gothic,  mediaeval  sources.  A  reference,  for  example, 
to  the  "  Theatre  Frangais  au  Moyen  Age,"  printed 
by  Monmerque  in  1839,  will  discover  the  miracle-play 
from  which  he  obtained  something  more  than  a  hint 
for  the  isometric  burden,  — "  Too  late,  too  late !  ye 
cannot  enter  now." 

Alliterations  and  rhymes  within  lines,  graces  of 
poetry  in  which  Tennyson  has  excelled  English  prede 
cessors,  are  a  continuous  excellence  of  his  Syracusan 
teachers.  There  is  a  wandering  melody,  wholly  dif 
ferent  from  the  sounding  Homeric  rhythm,  and  impos 
sible  for  a  translator  to  reproduce,  which  the  author 
of  "  The  Princess  "  has  approached  in  such  lines  as 
these  :  — 

"  O  Swallow,  Swallow,  if  I  could  follow,  and  light." 

"  Fly  to  her,  and  pipe  and  woo  her,  and  make  her  mine  " 


SIMILAR  EFFECTS  OF  RHYTHM. 


227 


"Laborious,  orient  ivory,  sphere  in  sphere." 

"  The  lime  a  summer  home  of  murmurous  wings." 

"  Ran  riot,  garlanding  the  gnarled  boughs 
With  bunch  and  berry  and  flower  through  and  through." 

"  The  flower  of  all  the  west  and  all  the  world." 

"  And  in  the  meadow  tremulous  aspen-trees 
And  poplars  made  a  noise  of  falling  showers." 

"  Sweeter  thy  voice,  but  every  sound  is  sweet, 
Myriads  of  rivulets  hurrying  through  the  lawn, 
The  moan  of  doves  in  immemorial  elms, 
And  murmuring  of  innumerable  bees." 

These  effects,  which  the  Laureate  employs  with  such 
variation  and  continuance  that  the  resultant  style  is 
known  as  Tennysonian,  were  Dorian  first  of  all. 
Whole  idyls  of  Theocritus,  composed  in  the  flexible 
bucolic  hexameter,  are  a  succession  of  melodies  which 
are  simply  consonant  with  the  genius  of  the  new  Doric 
tongue.  The  four  English  verses  last  cited  above  are 
curiously  imitated  from  the  musical  passage  in  the 
first  idyl  (Theocr.,  I.  7,  8). 

"  Sweeter  thy  song,  O  shepherd,  than  the  sound 
Of  yon  loud  stream,  falling  adown,  adown," 

combined  with  the  alliterative  line,  which  mimics  the 
murmuring  of  bees  (Theocr.,  V.  46), 


(S5e 


TTOTI 


/u.A.io'0'cu. 


It  may  be  said,  generally,  that  our  poet  imitates  the 
Sicilians,  and  them  alone,  of  all  his  classical  models, 
in  the  persistent  ease  with  which  sound,  color,  form, 
and  meaning  are  allied  in  his  compositions.  False 
notes  are  never  struck,  and  no  discordant  hues  are 
admitted. 


228 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


"Cyclops" 
and  the 
"Shepherd's 
Idyl." 


V. 

THIS  chapter  has  extended  beyond  its  proposed 
limits,  but,  ere  dismissing  the  theme,  I  will  cite  two 
more  examples  in  which  Mr.  Tennyson  has  very 
closely  followed  his  prototype.  The  first  is  that 
"  small  sweet  idyl  "  in  the  seventh  division  of  "  The 
Princess " ;  possibly,  so  far  as  objective  beauty  and 
finish  are  concerned,  the  nonpareil  of  the  whole  poem. 
It  is  an  imitation  of  the  apostrophe  of  Polyphemus 
to  Galatea,  and  never  were  the  antique  and  modern 
feeling  more  finely  contrasted:  the  one,  clear,  simple, 
childlike,  perfect  (in  the  Greek)  as  regards  melody 
and  tone ;  the  other,  nobler,  more  intellectual,  the  an 
tique  body  with  the  modern  soul.  The  substitution 
of  the  mountains  for  the  sea,  as  the  haunt  of  the 
beloved  nymph,  is  the  Laureate's  only  departure  from 
the  material  employed  by  Theocritus :  — 

Cyclops  (Theocr.,  XI.  42-49,  60-66). 
"  Come  thou  to  me,  and  thou  shalt  have  no  worse ; 
Leave  the  green  sea  to  stretch  itself  to  shore  ! 
More  sweetly  shalt  thou  pass  the  night  with  me 
In  yonder  cave ;  for  laurels  cluster  there, 
And  slender-pointed  cypresses  ;  and  there 
Is  the  dark  ivy,  the  sweet-fruited  vine; 
There  the  cool  water,  that  from  shining  snows 
Thick-wooded  y£tna  sends,  a  draught  for  gods. 
Who  these  would  barter  for  the  sea  and  waves  ? 

There  are  oak  fagots  and  unceasing  fire 

Beneath  the  ashes 

Now  will  I  learn  to  swim,  that  I  may  see 
What  pleasure  thus  to  dwell  in  water  depths 
Thou  findest !    Nay,  but,  Galatea,  come  ! 
Come  thence,  and  having  come,  forget  henceforth, 
As  I  (who  tarry  here),  to  seek  thy  home! 


THE  'SHEPHERDS  IDYL: 


22Q 


And  mayst  thou  love  with  me  to  feed  the  flocks 
And  milk  them,  and  to  press  the  cheese  with  me, 
Curdling  their  milk  with  rennet." 

The  Princess  (Book  VII.). 

"  Come  down,  O  maid,  from  yonder  mountain  height : 
What  pleasure  lives  in  height  (the  shepherd  sang), 
In  height  and  cold,  the  splendor  of  the  hills  ? 
But  cease  to  move  so  near  the  heavens,  and  cease 
To  glide  a  sunbeam  by  the  blasted  pine, 
To  sit  a  star  upon  the  sparkling  spire; 
And  come,  for  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come, 
For  Love  is  of  the  valley,  come  thou  down 
And  find  him;  by  the  happy  threshold  he, 
Or  hand  in  hand  with  Plenty  in  the  maize, 
Or  red  with  spurted  purple  of  the  vats, 
Or  fox-like  in  the  vine :  .     .     .     . 

....     Let  the  torrent  dance  thee  down 
To  find  him  in  the  valley;  let  the  wild 
Lean-headed  eagles  yelp  alone,  and  leave 
The  monstrous  ledges  there  to  slope    .... 
.    .    .     .    but  come ;  for  all  the  vales 
Await  thee ;  azure  pillars  of  the  hearth 
Arise  to  thee;  the  children  call,  and  I, 
Thy  shepherd,  pipe,  and  sweet  is  every  sound." 

The  closing  example  is  from  "  The  Thalysia,"  or 
Harvest-Home,  which  has  furnished  Mr.  Tennyson 
with  the  design  for  portions  of  "  The  Gardener's 
Daughter  "  and  "  Audley  Court."  There  is  no  exact 
reproduction,  but  in  outline  and  spirit  the  passages 
herewith  compared  will  be  seen  to  resemble  each 
other  more  nearly  than  others  already  given,  where 
the  expressions  of  the  Greek  text  are  repeated  in  the 
English  adaptation :  — 

The  Thalysia  (Theocr.,  VII.  I,  2,  130-147). 
"It  was  the  day  when  I  and  Eucritus 

Strolled  from  the  city  to  the  river-side : 

With  us  a  third,  Amyntas." 


"Tfo 

ThaJysia" 
and  its  coun 
terparts. 


230 


TENNYSON  AND    THEOCRITUS. 


(After  this  opening  follows  a  eulogy  of  the  poet's 
friends,  Phrasidamus  and  Antigenes.) 

"  He,  leftward  turning,  sauntered  on  the  road 
To  Pyxa ;  as  for  Eucritus  and  me 
With  handsome  young  Amyntas,  —  having  gained 
The  house  of  Phrasidamus,  and  lain  down 
On  beds  of  fragrant  rushes  and  on  leaves 
Fresh  from  the  vines,  —  we  took  our  fill  of  joy. 
Poplars  and  elms  were  rustling  in  the  wind 
Above  us,  and  a  sacred  rivulet 
From  the  Nymphs'  cave  was  murmuring  anigh. 
The  red  cicalas  ceaselessly  amid 
The  shady  boughs  were  chirping;  from  afar 
The  tree-frog  in  the  briers  chanted  shrill ; 
The  crest-larks  and  the  thistle-finches  sang, 
The  turtle-dove  was  plaining ;  tawny  bees 
Were  hovering  round  the  fountain.    All  things  near 
Smelt  of  the  ripened  summer,  all  things  smelt 
Of  fruit-time.     Pears  were  rolling  at  our  feet, 
And  apples  for  the  taking  ;  to  the  ground 
The  plum-tree  staggered,  burdened  with  its  fruit ; 
And  we,  meanwhile,  brushed  from  a  wine-jar's  mouth 
The  pitch,  four  years  unbroken." 

The  Gardener's  Daughter. 
"  This  morning  is  the  morning  of  the  day 
When  I  and  Eustace  from  the  city  went 
To  see  the  Gardener's  Daughter : 

(After   this   opening   follows   a    eulogy   of    Eustace 
and  Juliet.) 

" .     .     .     .     All  the  land  in  flowery  squares, 
Beneath  a  broad  and  equal-blowing  wind, 
Smelt  of  the  coming  summer.     .... 
.     .     .     .     From  the  woods 
Came  voices  of  the  well-contented  doves. 
The  lark  could  scarce  get  out  his  notes  for  joy, 
But  shook  his  song  together  as  he  neared 


THE  THALYSIA: 


231 


"  His  happy  home,  the  grcund,     To  left  and  right 
The  cuckoo  told  his  name  to  all  the  hills; 
The  mellow  ouzel  fluted  in  the  glen ; 
The  red-cap  whistled ;  and  the  nightingale 
Sang  loud,  as  though  he  were  the  bird  of  day.'1'' 

Audley  Court. 

"  There,  on  a  slope  of  orchard,  Francis  laid 
A  damask  napkin  wrought  with  horse  and  hound, 
Brought  out  a  dusky  loaf  that  smelt  of  home, 
And,  half  cut  down,  a  pasty  costly  made, 
Where  quail  and  pigeon,  lark  and  leveret,  lay 
Like  fossils  of  the  rock,  with  golden  yolks 
Imbedded  and  injellied ;  last,  with  these, 
A  flask  of  cider  from  his  father's  vats 
Prime,  which  I  knew." 

Each  portion  of  the  foregoing  English  Idyls,  so  far 
as  quoted,  is  a  reminiscence  of  some  portion  of  the 
"Thalysia"  (tnutatis  mutandis,  with  regard  to  theme, 
season,  and  country),  and  the  general  analogy  is 
equally  spirited  and  remarkable.  As  for  the  two 
lunches,  the  one  is  pure  Sicilian,  of  the  fruits  of  the 
orchard  and  the  vine;  the  other,  pure  Briton,  smack 
ing  of  the  cook  and  the  larder.  Your  true  English 
man,  while  sensible  of  the  beauty  of  the  song  of  the 
lark,  who  can  "  scarce  get  out  his  notes  for  joy,"  ap 
preciates  him  none  the  less  when  lying  "imbedded 
and  injellied"  beneath  the  crust  of  "a  pasty  costly 
made."  It  should  be  remembered,  however,  that  the 
bird  does  not  appear  under  these  differing  conditions 
in  the  same  idyl. 

VI. 

A  SUFFICIENT  number  of  analogous  passages  have 
now  been  cited  to  illustrate  the  homage  which  the 
Laureate  has  paid  to  the  example  of  Theocritus,  and 


232 


TENNYSON  AND   THEOCRITUS. 


Tennyson 
none  the  les. 
an  original 
foet. 


Pseudo- 
pastoral 

•verse. 


the  perfection  of  that  art  by  which  he  has  wedded 
his  master's  method  to  the  spirit  and  resources  of 
the  English  tongue.  I  have  written  with  genuine  rev 
erence  for  Tennyson's  work,  and  with  a  gratitude,  felt 
by  all  who  take  pleasure  in  noble  verse,  for  the  de 
light  imparted  through  many  years  by  the  successive 
productions  of  his  genius.  In  study  of  the  Sicilian 
models  he  has  been  true  to  his  poetic  instinct,  and 
fortunate  in  discernment  of  the  wants  of  his  day  and 
generation.  Emerson,  in  an  essay  on  "  Imitation  and 
Originality,"  has  said :  "  We  expect  a  great  man  to  be 
a  good  reader ;  or  in  proportion  to  the  spontaneous 
power  should  be  the  assimilating  power";  and  again, 
"  There  are  great  ways  of  borrowing.  Genius  borrows 
nobly.  When  Shakespeare  is  charged  with  debts  to 
his  authors,  Landor  replies :  '  Yet  he  was  more  origi 
nal  than  his  originals.  He  breathed  upon  dead  bodies 
and  brought  them  to  life.'" 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  somewhat  of  this 
applies  to  Tennyson's  variations  upon  Theocritus.  To 
him,  also,  may  be  adjudged  the  credit  of  being  the 
first  to  catch  the  manner  of  the  classical  idyls  and 
reproduce  it  in  modern  use  and  being.  Before  his 
time  Milton  and  Shelley  were  the  only  poets  who 
measurably  succeeded  in  this  attempt,  and  neither  of 
them  repeated  it  after  a  single  trial.  Other  reproduc- 
ions  of  the  Greek  idyllic  form  have  been  by  a  kind 
of  filtration  through  the  Latin  medium ;  and  often, 
by  a  third  remove,  after  a  redistillation  of  the  French 
product.  The  odious  result  is  visible  in  the  absurd 
pastorals  of  "standard  British  poets,"  from  Dryden 
limself  and  Pope,  to  Browne,  Ambrose  Philips,  Shen- 
>tone,  and  Gay.  Their  bucolics  have  made  us  sicken 
at  the  very  mention  of  such  names  as  Daphnis  and 


CLOSE   OF  THE  IDYLLIC  PERIOD. 


233 


Corydon,  soiled  as  these  are  with  all  ignoble  use.  Ten 
nyson  revived  the  true  idyllic  purpose,  adopting  the 
form  mainly  as  a  structure  in  which  to  exhibit,  with 
equal  naturalness  and  beauty,  the  scenery,  thought, 
manners,  of  his  own  country  and  time.  Assuming 
the  title  of  idyllic  poet,  he  made  the  term  "idyl" 
honored  and  understood ;  but  carried  his  method  to 
such  perfection,  that  its  cycle  seems  already  near  an 
end,  and  a  new  generation  is  calling  for  work  of  a 
different  order,  for  more  vital  passion  and  dramatic 
power. 


The  true 
idyl. 


CALIFORNIA. 


CHAPTER    VII. 


THE   GENERAL   CHOIR. 


An  era 
fairly  rep 
resented  by 
its  miscella 
neous  poets. 


The  early 
situation 
and  outlook. 

A  ccession  of 
Victoria : 
June  20, 

1837- 


THE  choral  leaders  are  few  in  number,  and  it  is 
from  a  blended  multitude  of  voices  that  we  de 
rive  the  general  tone  and  volume,  at  any  epoch,  of  a 
nation's  poetic  song.  The  miscellaneous  poets,  singly 
or  in  characteristic  groups,  give  us  the  pervading 
quality  of  a  stated  era.  Great  singers,  lifted  by 
imagination,  make  style  secondary  to  thought ;  or, 
rather,  the  thought  of  each  assumes  a  correlative 
form  of  expression.  Younger  or  minor  contempora 
ries  catch  and  reflect  the  fashion  of  these  forms, 
even  if  they  fail  to  create  a  soul  beneath.  It  is  said 
that  very  great  poets  never,  through  this  process,  have 
founded  schools,  their  art  having  been  of  inimitable 
loftiness  or  simplicity ;  but  who  of  the  accepted  few, 
during  recent  years,  has  thus  held  the  unattainable 
before  the  vision  of  the  facile  English  throng? 


I. 

AT  the  beginning  of  the  present  reign  Tennyson 
was  slowly  obtaining  recognition,  and  his  influence 
had  not  yet  established  the  poetic  fashion  of  the 
time.  Wordsworth  shone  by  himself,  in  a  serene  and 
luminous  orbit,  at  a  height  reached  only  after  a  pro- 


EARLY  SITUATION  AND   OUTLOOK. 


235 


longed  career.  The  death  of  Byron  closed  a  splendic 
but  tempestuous  era,  and  was  followed  by  years  oJ 
reaction,  —  almost  of  sluggish  calm.  At  least,  the 
group  of  poets  was  without  a  leader,  and  was  com 
posed  of  men  who,  with  few  great  names  among  them 
utilized  their  gifts,  —  each  after  his  own  method  or 
after  one  of  that  master,  among  men  of  the  previous 
generation,  whom  he  most  affected.  A  kind  of  in 
terregnum  occurred.  Numbers  of  minor  poets  and 
scholars  survived  their  former  compeers,  and  wrote 
creditable  verse,  but  produced  little  that  was  essen 
tially  new.  Motherwell  had  died,  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-eight,  having  done  service  in  the  revival  of 
Scottish  ballad-minstrelsy :  and  with  the  loss  of  the 
author  of  that  exquisite  lyric,  "  Jeanie  Morrison,"  of 
"The  Cavalier's  Song,"  and  "The  Sword-Chant  of 
Thorstein  Raudi,"  there  passed  away  a  vigorous  and 
sympathetic  poet.  Southey,  Moore,  Rogers,  Frere, 
Wilson,  James  Montgomery,  Campbell,  James  and 
Horace  Smith,  Croly,  Joanna  Baillie,  Bernard  Barton, 
Elliott,  Cunningham,  Tennant,  Bowles,  Maginn,  Pea 
cock,  poor  John  Clare,  the  translators  Gary  and  Lock- 
hart,1  —  all  these  were  still  alive,  but  had  outlived 
their  generation,  and,  as  far  as  verse  was  concerned, 


1  Robert  Southey,  Poet  Laureate,  1774-1843;  Thomas  Moore, 
1779-  1852;  Samuel  Rogers,  1763-1855;  Rt.  Hon.  John  Hook- 
ham  Frere,  1769-1846;  John  Wilson,  1785-1854;  Rev.  James 
Montgomery,  1771  -  1854  ;  Thomas  Campbell,  1777-  1844;  James 
Smith,  I775~l839;  Horace  Smith,  1779-1849;  Rev.  George 
Croly,  1780-1860;  Joanna  Baillie,  1762-1851;  Bernard  Barton, 
1784-1849;  Ebenezer  Elliott,  1781-1849;  Allan  Cunningham, 
1784-1842;  William  Tennant,  1785-1848;  Rev.  William  Lisle 
Bowles,  1762-1850;  William  Maginn,  1793-1842;  Thomas  Love 
Peacock,  1785-1866;  John  Clare,  1793-1864;  Rev.  Henry 
Francis  Gary,  1772-1844;  John  Gibson  Lockhart,  1794-1854. 


William 
Words 
worth,  Poet- 
Laureate  : 
born  April 
7i  i?7°; 
died  April 
23,  1850. 


William 

Motherwell: 

1797-1835. 


The  retired 
list. 


236 


DARLEY.  —  BEDDOES.—  TA  YLOR. 


Leigh 
Hunt.    See 
page  103. 

Rev.  Henry 
Hart  Mil- 
man  '. 
1791  - 1868. 


Sir  Thomas 
Noon  Tal- 
fourd: 
1795-1854. 


James 
Sheridan 
Knowles : 
1784-  1862. 


Mary  Rus 
sell  Mit- 
ford: 
1786-1855. 


"Strayed 
singers" 


George 
Darley : 
1785-1849. 


were  more  or  less  superannuated.  What  Landor, 
Hood,  and  Procter  were  doing  has  passed  already 
under  review.  Leigh  Hunt  continued  his  pleasant 
verse  and  prose,  and  did  much  to  popularize  the 
canons  of  art  exemplified  in  the  poetry  of  his  former 
song-mates,  Coleridge,  Shelley,  and  Keats.  Milman, 
afterward  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  a  pious  and  conven 
tional  poet  who  dated  his  literary  career  from  the 
success  of  an  early  drama,  "  Fazio,"  still  was  writing 
plays  that  did  credit  to  a  churchman  and  Oxford 
professor.  Talfourd's  "Ion"  and  "The  Athenian 
Captive "  also  had  made  a  stage-success  :  the  poets 
had  not  yet  discovered  that  a  stage  which  the  talent 
of  Macready  exactly  fitted,  and  a  histrionic  feeling 
of  which  the  plays  of  Sheridan  Knowles  had  come 
to  be  the  faithful  expression,  were  not  stimulating  to 
the  production  of  the  highest  grade  of  dramatic 
poetry.  Various  dramas  and  poems,  by  that  cheery, 
versatile  authoress,  Miss  Mitford,  had  succeeded  her 
tragedies  of  "Julian"  and  "Rienzi."  It  must  be 
owned  that  these  three  were  good  names  in  a  day 
of  which  the  fashion  has  gone  by.  At  this  distance 
we  see  plainly  that  they  were  minor  poets,  or  that 
the  times  were  unfriendly  to  work  whose  attraction 
should  be  lasting.  Doubtless,  were  they  alive  and 
active  now,  they  would  contend  for  favor  with  many 
whom  the  present  delights  to  honor. 

Meanwhile  a  few  men  of  genius,  somewhat  out  of 
place  in  their  generation,  had  been  essaying  dramatic 
work  for  the  love  of  it,  but  had  little  ambition  or 
continuity,  finding  themselves  so  hopelessly  astray. 
Darley,  after  his  first  effort,  "  Sylvia,"  —  a  crude 
but  poetical  study  in  the  sweet  pastoral  manner  of 
Jonson  and  Fletcher,  —  was  silent,  except  for  some 


THE  SENTIMENTALISTS. 


237 


occasional  song,  full  of  melody  and  strange  purpose- 
lessness.  Beddoes,  a  stronger  spirit,  author  of  "  The 
Bride's  Tragedy  "  and  "  Death's  Jest-Book,"  wandered 
off  to  Germany,  and  no  collection  of  his  wild  and 
powerful  verse  was  made  until  after  his  decease. 
Taylor,  whose  noble  intellect  and  fine  constructive 
powers  were  early  affected  by  the  teachings  of  Words 
worth,  entered  a  grand  protest  against  the  sentimen- 
talism  into  which  the  Byronic  passion  now  had  de 
generated.  He  would,  I  believe,  have  done  even 
better  work,  if  this  very  influence  of  Wordsworth  had 
not  deadened  his  genuine  dramatic  power.  He  saw 
the  current  evils,  but  could  not  substitute  a  potential 
excellence  or  found  an  original  school.  As  it  is, 
"  Philip  van  Artevelde  "  and  "  Edwin  the  Fair  "  have 
gained  a  place  for  him  in  English  literature  more 
enduring  than  the  honors  awarded  to  many  popular 
authors  of  his  time. 

The  sentimental  feeling  of  these  years  was  nurtured 
on  the  verse  of  female  writers,  Mrs.  Hemans  and 
Miss  Landon,  whose  deaths  seemed  to  have  given 
their  work,  always  in  demand,  a  still  wider  reading. 
It  had  been  fashionable  for  a  throng  of  humbler 
imitators,  including  some  of  gentle  blood,  to  con 
tribute  to  the  "  annuals  "  and  "  souvenirs  "  of  Alaric 
Watts,  but  their  summer-time  was  nearly  over  and  the 
chirping  rapidly  grew  faint.  The  Hon.  Mrs.  Norton, 
styled  "  the  Byron  of  poetesses,"  was  at  the  height 
of  her  popularity.  A  pure  religious  sentiment  in 
spired  the  sacred  hymns  of  Keble.  Young  Hallam 
had  died,  leaving  material  for  a  volume  of  literary 
remains  ;  if  he  did  not  live  to  prove  himself  great, 
his  memory  was  to  be  the  cause  of  greatness  in 
others,  and  is  now  as  abiding  as  any  fame  which 


Love II  Bed- 
does:  1803- 
49- 


Sir  Henry 
Taylor : 


The  senti 
mentalists. 


The  "An 
nuals" 

A  laric 
Alexander 
Watts: 
1799-1864. 

Caroline 

Elizabeth 

Sarah 

Norton: 


Rev.  John 

Keble: 

1792-1866. 

Arthur 
Henry 
Hallam : 
1811-33, 


233 


FORMATION  OF  A   NEW  SCHOOL. 


Rev.  Rich 
ard  Harris 

Bar  ham  '. 
1788-1845. 


Winthrop 
Rlackworth 
Praed: 
1802-39. 


A  critical 
analogy. 


maturity  could  have  brought  him.  Besides  the  comic 
verse  of  Hood,  noticed  in  a  previous  chapter,  other 
jingling  trifles,  like  Barham's  Ingoldsby  Legends,  a  cross 
between  Hood's  whimsicality  and  that  of  Peter  Pindar, 
were  much  in  vogue,  and  serve  to  illustrate  the  broad 
and  very  obvious  quality  of  the  humor  of  the  day. 
Lastly,  Praed,  a  sprightly  and  delicate  genius,  soon  to 
die  and  long  to  be  affectionately  lamented,  was  restor 
ing  the  lost  art  of  writing  society-verse,  and,  in  a  style 
even  now  modern  and  attractive,  was  lightly  throw 
ing  off  stanzas  neater  than  anything  produced  since 
the  wit  of  Canning  and  the  fancy  of  Tommy  Moore. 
All  this  was  light  enough,  and  now  seems  to  us  to 
have  betokened  a  shabby,  profitless  condition.  From 
it,  however,  certain  elements  were  gradually  to  crys 
tallize  and  to  assume  definite  purpose  and  form.  The 
influence  of  Wordsworth  began  to  deepen  and  widen ; 
and  erelong,  under  the  lead  of  Tennyson,  composite 
groups  and  schools  were  to  arise,  having  clearer  ideas 
of  poetry  as  an  art,  and  adorning  with  the  graces  of 
a  new  culture  studies  after  models  derived  from  the 
choicest  poetry  of  every  literature  and  time. 


II. 

THE  cyclic  aspect  of  a  nation's  literary  history  has 
been  so  frequently  observed  that  any  reference  to  it 
involves  a  truism.  The  analogy  between  the  courses 
through  which  the  art  of  different  countries  advances 
and  declines  is  no  less  thoroughly  understood.  The 
country  whose  round  of  being,  in  every  department 
of  effort,  is  most  sharply  defined  to  us,  was  Ancient 
Greece.  The  rise,  splendor,  and  final  decline  of  her 
imaginative  literature  constitute  the  fullest  paradigm 


HISTORICAL  ANALOGY. 


239 


of  a  nation's  literary  existence  and  of  the  supporting 
laws.  In  the  preceding  chapter  I  have  enlarged  upon 
the  active,  critical,  and  learned  Alexandrian  period 
-which  succeeded  to  the  three  creative  stages  of  Hel 
lenic  song.  I  have  said  that  during  this  epoch  the 
Hellenic  spirit  grew  elaborately  feeble ;  what  was 
once  so  easily  creative  became  impotent,  and  at  las 
entirely  died  away.  Study  could  not  supply  the  force 
of  nature.  A  formidable  circle  of  acquirements  mus 
be  formed  before  one  could  aspire  to  the  title  of  an 
author.  Verbal  criticism  was  introduced ;  researches 
were  made  into  the  Greek  tongue;  antique  and  quaint 
words  were  sought  for  by  the  poets,  and,  to  quote 
again  from  Schoell,  "  they  sought  to  hide  their  defects 
beneath  singularity  of  idea,  and  novelty  and  extrava 
gance  of  expression ;  while  the  bad  taste  of  some 
displayed  itself  in  their  choice  of  subjects  still  more 
than  in  their  manner  of  treating  them." 

In  modern  times,  when  more  events  are  crowded 
into  a  decade  than  formerly  occurred  in  a  century, 
and  when  civilization  ripens,  mellows,  and  declines, 
only  to  repeat  the  process  in  successively  briefer 
periods,  men  do  not  count  a  decline  in  national  litera 
ture  a  symptom  that  the  national  glory  is  approaching 
its  end.  Still,  more  than  one  recurring  cycle  of  Eng 
lish  literature  has  its  analogue  in  the  entire  course 
of  that  of  Ancient  Greece.  And,  when  we  come  to 
the  issue  of  supremacy  in  poetic  creation,  the  ques 
tion  arises  whether  Great  Britain  has  not  recently 
been  going  through  a  period  similar  to  the  Alexan 
drian  in  other  respects  than  the  production  of  a  fine 
idyllic  poet.  It  is  difficult  to  estimate  our  own  time, 
so  insensibly  does  the  judgment  ally  itself  to  the 
graces  and  culture  in  vogue.  Take  up  any  well- 


See  pages 
205,  206. 


Contrast  be- 
'ween  an 
cient  and 
modern  lit- 
rary  cycles. 


240 


FAMOUS  ENGLISH  PERIODS. 


Skill  and 
refinement 
of  the  mino 
poets. 


The  Geor 
gian  revi 
val:  1790- 
1824. 


Essay  on 
"  The  Book 
of  the 
Poets," 
E.  B.  B. 


edited  selection  from  English  minor  poetry  of  the  last 
thirty  years,  and  our  first  thought  is,  —  how  full  this 
is  of  poetry,  or  at  least  of  poetic  material !  What 
refined  sentiment !  what  artistic  skill !  what  elaborate 
metrical  successes !  From  beginning  to  end,  how 
very  readable,  high-toned,  close,  and  subtile  in  thought ! 
Here  and  there,  also,  poems  are  to  be  found  of  the 
veritable  cast,  —  simple,  sensuous,  passionate ;  but 
not  so  often  as  to  give  shape  and  color  to  the  whole. 
With  the  same  standard  in  view,  one  could  not  cull 
such  a  garland  from  the  minor  poetry  of  any  portion 
of  the  last  century;  nor,  indeed,  from  that  of  any  in 
terval  later  than  the  generation  after  Shakespeare,  and 
earlier  than  the  great  revival,  which  numbered  Burns, 
Wordsworth,  Byron,  and  Keats  among  the  leaders  of 
an  awakened  chorus  of  natural  English  minstrelsy. 

That  revival,  in  its  minor  and  major  aspects,  was 
truly  glorious  and  inspiring.  The  poets  who  sus 
tained  it  were  led,  through  the  disgust  following  a 
hundred  years  of  false  and  flippant  art,  and  by  some 
thing  of  an  intellectual  process,  to  seek  again  that 
full  and  limpid  fountain  of  nature  to  which  the  Eliza 
bethan  singers  resorted  intuitively  for  their  draughts. 
But  the  unconscious  vigor  of  that  early  period  was 
still  more  brave  and  immortal  than  its  philosophical 
ounterpart  in  our  own  century.  Ah,  those  days  of 
Elizabeth !  of  which  Mrs.  Browning  said,  in  her  exult 
ant,  womanly  way,  —  that  "full  were  they  of  poets  as 

he  summer  days  are  of  birds Never  since  the 

first  nightingale  brake  voice  in  Eden  arose  such  a 
ubilee-concert ;  never  before  nor  since  has  such  a 
crowd  of  true  poets  uttered  true  poetic  speech  in  one 

day Why,  a  common  man,  walking  through  the 

earth  in  those  days,  grew  a  poet  by  position." 


THE  MEDITATIVE  SCHOOL. 


241 


Now,  have  freshness,  synthetical  art,  and  sustained 
imaginative  power  been  the  prominent  endowments  of 
the  recent  schools  of  British  minor  poets?  For  an 
answer  we  must  give  attention  to  their  blended  or 
distinctive  voices,  remembering  that  certain  of  the  ear 
liest  groups  have  recruited  their  numbers,  and  pro 
longed  their  vitality,  throughout  the  middle  and  even 
the  latest  divisions  of  the  period  under  review. 

III. 

THE  tone  of  the  first  of  these  divisions  upon  the 
whole  was  suggested  by  Wordsworth,  while  the  poetic 
form  had  not  yet  lost  the  Georgian  simplicity  and 
profuseness.  Filtered  through  the  intervening  period 
of  which  we  have  spoken,  its  eloquence  had  grown 
tame,  its  simplicity  somewhat  barren  and  prosaic. 
Still,  both  tone  and  form,  continuing  even  to  our  day, 
are  as  readily  distinguished,  by  the  absence  of  elabo 
rate  adornment  and  of  curious  nicety  of  thought,  from 
those  of  either  the  Tennysonian  or  the  very  latest 
school,  as  the  water  of  the  Mississippi  from  that  of 
the  Missouri  for  miles  below  their  confluence.  The 
poets  of  the  group  before  us  are  not  inaptly  thought 
to  constitute  the  Meditative  School,  characterized  by 
seriousness,  reflection,  earnestness,  and,  withal,  by  re 
ligious  faith,  or  by  impressive  conscientious  bewilder 
ment  among  the  weighty  problems  of  modern  thought. 

The  name  of  Hartley  Coleridge  here  may  be  recalled. 
His  poetry,  slight  in  force  and  volume,  yet  relieved 
by  half-tokens  of  his  father's  sudden  melody  and  pas 
sion,  is  cast  in  the  mould  and  phrase  of  his  father's 
life-long  friend.  This  mingled  quality  came  by  de 
scent  and  early  association.  The  younger  Coleridge 


A  question, 
before  the 
reader. 


Influence  of 
Words 
worth. 


The  Medi 
tative 
School. 


Rev.  Hart 
ley  Cole 
ridge  : 
1796-1849. 


242 


MITFORD.  —  TRENCH.  —  ALFORD. 


Rev.  John 

Mitford: 

1811-58. 

Richard 
Chenevix 
Trench  : 
!8o7- 

Henry 
Afford: 
1810-  71. 


A  ubrey  de 
Vere : 
1814- 


(whose  beautiful  child-picture  by  Wilkie  adds  a  touch 
ing  interest  to  his  memoirs)  inherited  to  the  full  the 
physical  and  psychological  infirmities  of  the  elder,  with 
but  a  limited  portion  of  that  "rapt  one's"  divine  gift. 
The  atmosphere  of  his  boyhood  was  full  of  learning 
and  idealism.  He  had  great  accomplishments,  and 
had  the  poetic  temperament,  with  all  its  weaknesses 
and  dangers,  yet  without  a  coequal  faculty  of  reflec 
tion  and  expression.  Hence  the  inevitable  and  pa 
thetic  tragedy  of  a  groping,  clouded  life,  sustained 
only  by  piteous  resignation  and  faith.  Several  moral 
istic  poets  date  from  this  early  period,  —  Mitford, 
Trench,  Alford,  and  others  of  a  like  religious  mood. 
Archbishop  Trench's  work  is  careful  and  scholarly, 
marked  by  earnestness,  and  occasionally  rises  above 
a  didactic  level.  Dean  Alford's  consists  largely  of 
Wordsworthian  sonnets,  to  which  add  a  poem  mod 
elled  upon  "The  Excursion";  yet  he  has  written  a 
few  sweet  lyrics  that  may  preserve  his  name.  The 
devotional  traits  of  these  writers  gave  some  of  them 
a  wider  reading,  in  England  and  America,  than  their 
scanty  measure  of  inspiration  really  deserved.  Grad 
ually  they  have  fallen  out  of  fashion,  and  again  illus 
trate  the  truth  that  no  ethical  virtue  will  compensate 
us  in  art  for  dulness,  didacticism,  want  of  imaginative 
fire.  Aubrey  de  Vere,  a  later  disciple  of  the  Cumber 
land  school,  is  of  a  different  type,  and  has  shown  ver 
satility,  taste,  and  a  more  natural  gift  of  song.  This 
gentle  poet  and  scholar,  though  hampered  by  too  rigid 
adoption  of  Wordsworth's  theory,  often  has  an  attrac 
tive  manner  of  his  own.  Criticized  from  the  artistic 
point  of  view,  a  few  studies  after  the  antique  seem 
very  terse  when  compared  with  his  other  work.  A 
late  drama,  "  Alexander  the  Great,"  has  strength  of 


DE  VERE.  —BURBIDGE.  —  STERLING. 


243 


language  and  construction.  The  earnestness  and  pu 
rity  of  his  patriotic  and  religious  verses  give  them 
exaltation,  and,  on  the  whole,  the  Irish  have  a  right 
to  be  proud  of  this  most  spiritual  of  their  poets,— 
one  who,  unlike  Hartley  Coleridge,  has  improved  upon 
an  inherited  endowment.  Returning  on  our  course, 
we  see  in  the  verse  of  Burbidge  another  reflection  of 
Wordsworth,  but  also  something  that  reminds  us  of 
the  older  English  poets.  As  a  whole,  it  is  of  mid 
dle  quality,  but  so  correct  and  finished  that  it  is 
no  wonder  the  author  never  fulfilled  the  dangerous 
promise  of  his  boyhood.  He  was  a  schoolfellow  of 
Clough,  and  I  am  not  aware  that  he  ever  published 
any  volume  subsequent  to  that  by  which  this  note  is 
suggested,  and  which  bears  the  date  of  1838.  The 
relics  of  Sterling,  the  subject  of  Carlyle's  familiar  me 
moir,  like  those  of  Hallam,  do  not  of  themselves 
exhibit  the  full  ground  of  the  biographer's  devotion. 
The  two  names,  nevertheless,  have  given  occasion  re 
spectively  for  the  most  characteristic  poem  and  the 
finest  prose  memorial  of  recent  times.  A  few  of 
Sterling's  minor  lyrics,  such  as  "  Mirabeau,"  are  elo 
quent,  and,  while  defaced  by  conceits  and  prosaic 
expressions,  show  flashes  of  imagination  which  bright 
en  the  even  twilight  of  a  meditative  poet.  Between 
the  deaths  of  Sterling  and  Clough  a  long  interval 
elapsed,  yet  there  is  a  resemblance  between  them  in 
temperament  and  mental  cast.  It  may  be  said  of 
Clough,  as  Carlyle  said  of  Sterling,  that  he  was  "  a 
remarkable  soul,  ....  who,  more  than  others,  sensi 
ble  to  its  influences,  took  intensely  into  him  such  tint 
and  shape  of  feature  as  the  world  had  to  offer 
there  and  then ;  fashioning  himself  eagerly  by  what 
soever  of  noble  presented  itself."  It  may  be  said  of 


Thomas 
Burbidge  '. 
born  about 
1816. 


John 

Sterling '. 
1806-44. 


A  rthur 
Hugh 

Clough  : 
1819-61. 


244 


ARTHUR  HUGH  CLOUGH. 


dough's 

hexameter 

Poem. 


him,  likewise,  that  in  his  writings  and  actions  "  there 
is  for  all  true  hearts,  and  especially  for  young  noble 
seekers,  and  strivers  towards  what  is  highest,  a  mirror 
in  which  some  shadow  of  themselves  and  of  their 
immeasurably  complex  arena  will  profitably  present 
itself.  Here  also  is  one  encompassed  and  struggling 
even  as  they  now  are."  Clough  must  have  been  a 
rare  and  lovable  spirit,  else  he  could  never  have  so 
wrapped  himself  within  the  affections  of  true  men. 
Though  he  did  much  as  a  poet,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
his  genius  reached  anything  like  a  fair  development. 
Intimate  as  he  was  with  the  Tennysons,  his  style, 
while  often  reflective,  remained  entirely  his  own.  His 
fine  original  nature  took  no  tinge  of  the  prevailing 
influences  about  him.  His  free  temperament  and 
radical  way  of  thought,  with  a  manly  disdain  of  all 
factitious  advancement,  made  him  a  force  even  among 
the  choice  companions  attached  to  his  side ;  and  he 
was  valued  as  much  for  his  character  and  for  what  he 
was  able  to  do,  as  for  the  things  he  actually  accom 
plished.  There  was  nothing  second-rate  in  his  nature, 
and  his  Bothie  of  Tober-na-Vuolich,  which  bears  the 
reader  along  less  easily  than  the  billowy  hexameters 
of  Kingsley,  is  charmingly  faithful  to  its  Highland 
theme,  and  has  a  Doric  simplicity  and  strength.  His 
shorter  pieces  are  uneven  in  merit,  but  all  suggestive 
and  worth  a  thinker's  attention.  If  he  could  have 
remained  in  the  liberal  American  atmosphere,  and 
have  been  spared  his  untimely  taking-off,  he  might 
have  come  to  greatness ;  but  he  is  now  no  more,  and 
with  him  departed  a  radical  thinker  and  a  living 
protest  against  the  truckling  expedients  of  the  mode. 
The  poetry  of  Lord  Houghton  is  of  a  modern  con 
templative  type,  very  pure,  and  often  sweetly  lyrical. 


MILNES.  —  NE  WMAN.  —  PALGRA  VE. 


245 


Emotion  and  intellect  blend  harmoniously  in  his  deli 
cate,  suggestive  verse,  and  a  few  of  his  songs  — 
among  which  "  I  wandered  by  the  brookside "  at 
once  recurs  to  the  memory  —  have  a  deserved  and 
lasting  place  in  English  anthology.  This  beloved 
writer  has  kept  within  his  limitations.  He  has  the 
sincere  affection  of  men  of  letters,  who  all  honor 
his  free  thought,  his  catholic  taste,  and  his  generous 
devotion  to  authors  and  the  literary  life.  To  the 
friend  and  biographer  of  Keats,  the  thoughtful  patron 
of  David  Gray,  and  the  progressive  enthusiast  in 
poetry  and  art,  I  venture  to  pay  this  cordial  tribute, 
knowing  that  I  but  feebly  repeat  the  sentiments  of  a 
multitude  of  authors  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

Dr.  Newman  has  lightened  the  arduous  labors  and 
controversies  of  his  distinguished  career  by  the  com 
position  of  many  thoughtful  hymns,  imbued  with  the 
most  devotional  spirit  of  his  faith.  As  representing 
the  side  of  obedience  to  tradition  these  Verses  of 
Many  Years  have  their  significance.  At  the  opposite 
pole  of  theological  feeling,  Palgrave,  just  as  earnest 
and  sincere,  seems  to  illustrate  the  Laureate's  say 
ing,— 

"  There  lives  more  faith  in  honest  doubt, 
Believe  me,  than  in  half  the  creeds." 

Nevertheless,  in  "The  Reign  of  Law,"  one  of  his 
best  and  most  characteristic  pieces,  he  argues  himself 
into  a  reverential  optimism,  that  seems,  just  now,  to 
be  the  resting-place  of  the  speculative  religious  mind. 
He  may  be  said  to  represent  the  latest  attitude  of 
the  meditative  poets,  and  in  this  closely  resembles 
Arnold,  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken  as  the  most 
conspicuous  and  able  modern  leader  of  their  school. 


Richard 
Monckton 
Milnes  : 


Rev.  John 
Henry 
Newman : 
1801- 


Francis 
Turner 
Palgrave : 
1824- 


246 


PLUMPTRE.  —  MYERS.  —  HAMERTON. 


Rev.  Ed- 

ward  Hayes 
Plumptre : 
1821- 


Frederic  IV. 
H.  Myers. 


Philip 
Gilbert 
Hamerton : 
1834- 


Spirit  of  the 
contempla 
tive  poets. 
See  also  pp. 
96-98. 


Indeed,  there  is  scarcely  a  criticism  which  I  have 
made  upon  the  one  that  will  not  apply  to  the  other. 
Palgrave,  with  less  objective  taste  and  rhythmical 
skill  than  are  displayed  in  Arnold's  larger  poems, 
is  in  his  lyrics  equally  searching  and  philosophical, 
and  occasionally  shows  evidence  of  a  musical  and 
more  natural  ear.  The  Biblical  legends  and  narrative 
poems  of  Dr.  Plumptre  are  simple,  and  somewhat  like 
those  of  the  American  Willis,  but  didactic  and  of  a 
kind  going  out  of  vogue.  His  hymns  are  much  bet 
ter,  but  it  is  as  a  classical  translator  that  we  find 
him  at  his  best.  Among  the  later  religious  poets 
Myers  deserves  notice  for  the  feeling,  careful  finish, 
and  poetic  sentiment  of  his  longer  pieces.  A  few  of 
his  quatrain-lyrics  are  exceedingly  delicate  ;  his  son 
nets,  more  than  respectable.  From  the  resemblance 
of  the  artist  Hamerton's  descriptive  poetry  to  that  of 
Wordsworth,  I  refer,  in  this  place,  to  his  volume, 
The  Isles  of  Loch  Awe,  and  Other  Poems,  issued  in 
1859.  This  dainty  book,  with  its  author's  illustrations, 
is  interesting  as  the  production  of  one  who  has  since 
achieved  merited  popularity  both  as  an  artist  and 
prose  author,  —  in  either  of  which  capacities  he 
probably  is  more  at  home  than  if  he  had  followed 
the  art  which  gave  vent  to  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
younger  days.  He  may,  however,  be  called  the  tour 
ist's  poet ;  his  book  is  an  excellent  companion  to  one 
travelling  northward ;  the  poems,  though  lacking  terse 
ness  and  force,  and  written  on  a  too  obvious  theory, 
are  picturesque,  and,  as  the  author  claimed  for  them 
in  an  appendix,  "coherent,  and  easily  understood." 

Regarding  Palgrave  and  Arnold,  then,  as  advanced 
members  of  the  contemplative  group,  I  renew  the 
question  concerning  the  freshness  and  creative  in- 


DOUBTING  HEARTS. 


247 


stinct  of  this  recent  school.  The  unconscious  but 
uppermost  emotion  of  both  is  one  of  doubt  and  inde 
cision  :  a  feeling,  I  have  said,  that  they  were  born 
too  late.  They  are  awed  and  despondent  before  the 
mysteries  of  life  and  nature.  As  to  art,  their  con 
viction  is  that  somehow  the  glory  and  the  dream 
have  left  our  bustling  generation  for  a  long,  long  ab 
sence,  and  may  not  come  again.  Palgrave's  "  Reign 
of  Law,"  after  all,  is  but  making  the  best  of  a  dark 
matter.  It  reasons  too  closely  to  be  highly  poetical. 
The  doubts  and  refined  melancholy  of  his  other  poetry 
reflect  the  sentiment  of  the  still  more  subtile  Arnold, 
from  whose  writings  many  a  passage  such  as  this  may 
be  taken,  to  show  a  dissatisfaction  with  his  mission 
and  the  time  :  — 

"Who  can  see  the  green  Earth  any  more 
As  she  was  by  the  sources  of  Time  ? 
Who  imagine  her  fields  as  they  lay 
In  the  sunshine,  unworn  by  the  plough  ?    ' 
Who  thinks  as  they  thought, 
The  tribes  who  then  lived  on  her  breast, 
Her  vigorous,  primitive  sons  ? 

What  Bard, 

At  the  height  of  his  vision,  can  dream 
Of  God,  of  the  world,  of  the  soul, 
With  a  plainness  as  near, 
As  flashing  as  Moses  felt, 
When  he  lay  in  the  night  by  his  flock 
On  the  starlit  Arabian  waste  ? 
Can  rise  and  obey 
The  beck  of  the  Spirit  like  him  ? 

And  we  say  that  repose  has  fled 

Forever  the  course  of  the  River  of  Time,"  etc. 

Great  or  small,  the   meditative   poets   lack   that   elas- 


Attitude  of 
Palgrave 
atid  Arnold. 


248 


A   FEW  STRONG  SINGERS. 


Weakness 
and  decline 
of  the  school. 


A  few  inde 
pendent 
singers. 


Richard 
Hens,ist 
Horne  .* 
1803- 


ticity  which  is  imparted  by  a  true  lyrical  period,  — 
whose  very  life  is  gladness,  with  song  and  art  for  an 
undoubting,  blithesome  expression.  The  better  class, 
thus  sadly  impressed,  and  believing  it  in  vain  to 
grasp  at  the  skirts  of  the  vanishing  Muse,  are  im 
pelled  to  substitute  choice  simulacra,  which  culture 
and  artifice  can  produce,  for  the  simplicity,  sensuous- 
ness,  and  passion,  declared  by  Milton  to  be  the  ele 
ments  of  genuine  poetry.  They  are  what  training 
has  made  them.  Some  of  the  lesser  names  were 
cherished  by  their  readers,  in  a  mild  and  sterile  time, 
for  their  domestic  or  religious  feeling,  —  very  few 
really  for  their  imagination  or  art.  At  last  even 
sentiment  has  failed  to  sustain  them,  and  one  by  one 
they  have  been  relegated  to  the  ever-increasing  col 
lection  of  unread  and  rarely  cited  "  specimen  "  verse. 


IV. 

So  active  a  literary  period  could  not  fail  to  devel 
op,  among  its  minor  poets,  singers  of  a  more  fresh 
and  genuine  order.  Here  and  there  one  may  be  dis 
covered  whose  voice,  however  cultivated,  has  been 
less  dependent  upon  culture,  and  more  upon  emotion 
and  unstudied  art.  One  of  the  finest  of  these,  un 
questionably,  is  Horne,  author  of  "  Cosmo  de'  Medici," 
"Gregory  the  Seventh,"  "The  Death  of  Marlowe," 
and  "  Orion."  I  am  not  sure  that  in  natural  gift  he 
is  inferior  to  his  most  famous  contemporaries.  That 
he  here  receives  brief  attention  is  due  to  the  dispro 
portion  between  the  sum  of  his  productions  and  the 
length  of  his  career,  —  for  he  still  is  an  occasional 
and  eccentric  contributor  to  letters.  There  is  some 
thing  Elizabethan  in  Home's  writings,  and  no  less  in 


RICHARD  HENRY  HORNE. 


249 


a  restless  love  of  adventure,  which  has  borne  him 
wandering  and  fighting  around  the  world,  and  breaks 
out  in  the  robust  and  virile,  though  uneven,  character 
of  his  poems  and  plays.  He  has  not  only,  it  would 
seem,  dreamed  of  life,  but  lived  it.  Taken  together, 
his  poetry  exhibits  carelessness,  want  of  tact  and  wise 
method,  but  often  the  highest  beauty  and  power.  A 
fine  erratic  genius,  in  temperament  not  unlike  Bed- 
does  and  Landor,  he  has  not  properly  utilized  his 
birthright.  His  verse  is  not  improved  by  a  certain 
transcendentalism  which  pervaded  the  talk  and  writ 
ings  of  a  set  in  which  he  used  to  move.  Thus 
Orion  was  written  with  an  allegorical  purpose,  which 
luckily  did  not  prevent  it  from  being  one  of  the  no 
blest  poems  of  our  time  ;  a  complete,  vigorous,  highly 
imaginative  effort  in  blank-verse,  rich  with  the  an 
tique  imagery,  yet  modern  in  thought,  —  and  full  of 
passages  that  are  not  far  removed  from  the  majestic 
beauty  of  "  Hyperion."  The  author's  Ballad  Romances, 
issued  more  lately,  is  not  up  to  the  level  of  his 
younger  work.  While  it  seems  as  if  Home's  life  has 
been  unfruitful,  and  that  he  failed  —  through  what 
cause  I  know  not  —  to  conceive  a  definite  purpose 
in  art,  and  pursue  it  to  the  end,  it  must  be  remem 
bered  that  a  poet  is  subject  to  laws  over  which  we 
have  no  control,  and  in  his  external  relations  is  a 
law  unto  himself.  I  think  we  fairly  may  point  to 
this  one  as  another  man  of  genius  adversely  affected 
by  a  period  not  suited  to  him,  and  not  as  one  who 
in  a  dramatic  era  would  be  incapable  of  making  any 
larger  figure.  He  was  the  successor  of  Darley  and 
Beddoes,  and  the  prototype  of  Browning,  but  capable 
at  his  best  of  more  finish  and  terseness  than  the  last- 
named  poet.  In  most  of  his  productions  that  have 
11* 


A  fine  er 
ratic  genius. 


His 

"  Orion? 

etc. 


Horne  un- 
suitcd  to  his 
period. 


250 


MA  CA  ULA  Y.  —  A  YTOUN. 


Thomas 
£abington 
Macaulay : 
1800-59. 


William 
Edmond- 
stoune  Ay- 
toun:   1813 
65. 


reached  me,  amidst    much    that   is    strange    and   gro 
tesque,  I  find  little  that  is  sentimental  or  weak. 

Lord  Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Rome  was  a  liter 
ary  surprise,  but  its  poetry  is  the  rhythmical  outflow 
of  a  vigorous  and  affluent  writer,  given  to  splendor 
of  diction  and  imagery  in  his  flowing  prose.  He 
spoke  once  in  verse,  and  unexpectedly.  His  themes 
were  legendary,  and  suited  to  the  author's  heroic  cast, 
nor  was  Latinism  ever  more  poetical  than  under  his 
thoroughly  sympathetic  handling.  I  am  aware  that 
the  Lays  are  criticised  as  being  stilted  and  false  to  the 
antique,  but  to  me  they  have  a  charm,  and  to  almost 
every  healthy  young  mind  are  an  immediate  delight. 
Where  in  modern  ballad-verse  will  you  find  more 
ringing  stanzas,  or  more  impetuous  movement  and 
action  ?  Occasionally  we  have  a  noble  epithet  or 
image.  Within  his  range  —  little  as  one  who  met 
him  might  have  surmised  it  —  Macaulay  was  a  poet, 
and  of  the  kind  which  Scott  would  have  been  first  to 
honor.  "  Horatius  "  and  "  Virginius,"  among  the  Ro 
man  lays,  and  that  resonant  battle-cry  of  "  Ivry,"  have 
become,  it  would  seem,  a  lasting  portion  of  English 
verse.  In  the  work  of  Professor  Aytoun,  similar  in 
and,  but  more  varied,  and  upon  Scottish  themes,  we 
also  discern  what  wholesome  and  noteworthy  verse 
may  be  composed  by  a  man  who,  if  not  a  poet  of 
high  rank,  is  of  too  honest  a  breed  to  resort  to  un 
wonted  styles,  and  to  measures  inconsonant  with  the 
English  tongue.  The  ballads  of  both  himself  and 
Macaulay  rank  among  the  worthiest  of  their  class. 
Aytoun's  "  Execution  of  Montrose  "  is  a  fine  produc 
tion.  In  "  Bothwell,"  his  romantic  poem  in  the  metre 
and  manner  of  Scott,  he  took  a  subject  above  his 
powers,  which  are  at  their  best  in  the  lyric  before 


CHARLES  KINGS  LEY. 


251 


named.  Canon  Kingsley,  as  a  poet,  had  a  wider 
range.  His  "  Andromeda  "  is  an  admirable  composi 
tion,  —  a  poem  laden  with  the  Greek  sensuousness, 
yet  pure  as  crystal,  and  the  best-sustained  example 
of  English  hexameters  produced  up  to  the  date  of 
its  composition.  It  is  a  matter  of  indifference  whether 
the  measure  bearing  that  name  is  akin  to  the  antique 
model,  for  it  became,  in  the  hands  of  Kingsley, 
Hawtrey,  Longfellow,  and  Howells,  an  effective  form 
of  English  verse.  The  author  of  "Andromeda"  re 
peated  the  error  of  ignoring  such  quantities  as  do 
obtain  in  our  prosody,  and  relying  upon  accent  alone ; 
but  his  fine  ear  and  command  of  words  kept  him 
musical;  interfluent,  swift.  In  "St.  Maura,"  and  the 
drama  called  "The  Saint's  Tragedy,"  the  influence 
of  Browning  is  perceptible.  Kingsley's  true  poetic  fac 
ulty  is  best  expressed  in  various  sounding  lyrics  for 
which  he  was  popularly  and  justly  esteemed.  These 
are  new,  brimful  of  music,  and  national  to  the  core. 
"  The  Sands  o'  Dee,"  "  The  Three  Fishers,"  and  "  The 
Last  Buccaneer  "  are  very  beautiful ;  not  studies,  but 
a  true  expression  of  the  strong  and  tender  English 
heart. 

Here  we  observe  a  suggestive  fact.  With  few  ex 
ceptions  the  freshest  and  most  independent  poets  of 
the  middle  division  —  those  who  seem  to  have  been 
born  and  not  made  —  have  been,  by  profession  and 
reputation,  first,  writers  of  prose ;  secondly,  poets. 
Their  verses  appear  to  me,  like  their  humor,  "strength's 
rich  superfluity."  Look  at  Macaulay,  Aytoun,  and 
Arnold,  —  the  first  a  historian  and  critic,  the  others, 
essayists  and  college  professors.  Kingsley  and  Thack 
eray  might  have  been  dramatic  poets  in  a  different 
time  and  country,  but  accepted  the  romance  and 


Rev.  Charles 
Kingsley : 
1819-75. 


English 
hexameter 


Kingsley's 

ballads. 


Fresh  and 
genuine  poe 
try  by  nota 
ble  writers 
of  prose. 


252 


THORNBUR  Y.  —  THA  CKERA  Y. 


novel  as  affording  the  most  dramatic  methods  of 
the  day.  Thornbury  is  widely  known  by  his  prose 
volumes,  but  has  composed  some  of  the  most  fiery 
and  rhythmical  songs  in  the  English  tongue.  His 
Ballads  of  the  New  World  are  inferior  to  his  Songs 
of  the  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  and  to  his  other  lyrics 
of  war  and  revolution  in  Great  Britain  and  France, 
which  are  full  of  unstudied  lyrical  power.  Some  of 
these  remind  us  of  Browning's  "  Cavalier  Tunes " ; 
but  Browning  may  well  be  proud  of  the  pupil  who 
wrote  "  The  Sally  from  Coventry  "  and  "  The  Three 
Scars."  He  is  hasty  and  careless,  and  sometimes 
coarse  and  extravagant ;  his  pieces  seem  to  be  struck 
off  at  a  heat,  —  but  what  can  be  better  than  "  The 
Jester's  Sermon,"  "The  Old  Grenadier's  Story,"  and 
"  La  Tricoteuse  "  ?  How  unique  the  Jacobite  Ballads  ! 
Read  "The  White  Rose  over  the  Water."  "The 
Three  Troopers,"  a  ballad  of  the  Protectorate,  has  a 
clash  and  clang  not  often  resonant  in  these  piping 
times :  — 

"  Into  the  Devil  tavern 

Three  booted  troopers  strode, 
From  spur  to  feather  spotted  and  splashed 

With  the  mud  of  a  winter  road. 
In  each  of  their  cups  they  dropped  a  crust, 

And  stared  at  the  guests  with  a  frown  ; 
Then  drew  their  swords  and  roared,  for  a  toast, 

'  God  send  this  Crum-well-down  ! ' ' 

I  have  a  feeling  that  this  author  has  not  been 
fairly  appreciated  as  a  ballad-maker.  Equally  perfect 
of  their  sort  are  "  The  Mahogany-Tree,"  "  The  Ballad 
of  Bouillabaise,"  "  The  Age  of  '  Wisdom,"  and  "  The 
End  of  the  Play,"  —  all  by  the  kindly  hand  of  Thack 
eray,  which  shall  sweep  the  strings  of  melody  no 


SPONTANEITY. 


253 


more  ;  yet  their  author  was  a  satirist  and  novel-writer, 
never  a  professed  poet.  Nor  can  one  read  the  col 
lection  made,  late  in  life,  by  Doyle,  another  Oxford 
professor,  of  his  occasional  verse,  without  thinking 
that  "The  Return  of  the  Guards,"  "The  Old  Cava 
lier,"  "The  Private  of  the  Buffs,"  and  other  soldierly 
ballads  are  the  modest  effusions  of  a  natural  lyrist, 
who  probably  has  felt  no  great  encouragement  to 
perfect  a  lyrical  gift  that  has  been  crowded  out  of 
fashion  by  the  manner  of  the  latter-day  school. 

The  success  of  these  unpretentious  singers  again 
illustrates  the  statement  that  spontaneity  is  an  essen 
tial  principle  of  the  art.  The  poet  should  carol  like 
the  bird :  — 

"  He  knows  not  why  nor  whence  he  sings, 

Nor  whither  goes  his  warbled  song  ; 
As  Joy  itself  delights  in  joy, 
His  soul  finds  strength  in  its  employ, 
And  grows  by  utterance  strong." 

The  songs  of  minstrels  in  the  early  heroic  ages  dis 
played  the  elasticity  of  national  youth.  When  verses 
were  recited,  not  written,  a  pseudo-poet  must  have 
found  few  listeners.  In  a  more  cultivated  stage, 
poetry  should  have  all  this  unconscious  freshness,  re 
fined  and  harmonized  with  the  thought  and  finish  of 
the  day. 


V. 

MANY  of  the  novelists  have  written  verse,  but 
usually,  with  the  foregoing  exceptions,  by  a  profes 
sional  effort  rather  than  a  born  gift.  The  Bronte 
sisters  began  as  rhymesters,  but  quickly  found  their 
true  field.  Mrs.  Craik  has  composed  tender  stanzas 


Sir  Francis 
Hastings 
Doyle : 
1810- 


Spontaneity 
an  essential 
principle  of 
lyric  art. 


Inferior 
novelist- 
Poets. 

The  Bronte 
sisters. 


254 


NO  VELIST-POE  TS. 


resembling  those  of  Miss  Procter,  and  mostly  of  a 
grave  and  pleasing  kind.  George  Eliot's  metrical 
work  has  special  interest,  coming  from  a  woman  ac 
knowledged  to  be,  in  her  realistic  yet  imaginative 
prose,  at  the  head  of  living  female  writers.  She  has 
brought  all  her  energies  to  bear,  first  upon  the  con 
struction  of  a  drama,  which  was  only  a  succ'es  d'  estime, 
and  recently  upon  a  new  volume  containing  "The 
Legend  of  Jubal "  and  other  poems.  The  result 
shows  plainly  that  Mrs.  Lewes,  though  possessed  of 
great  intellect  and  sensibility,  is  not,  in  respect  to 
metrical  expression,  a  poet.  Nor  has  she  a  full  con 
ception  of  the  simple  strength  and  melody  of  English 
verse,  her  polysyllabic  language,  noticeable  in  the 
moralizing  passages  of  Middlemarch,  being  very  in 
effective  in  her  poems.  That  wealth  of  thought  which 
atones  for  all  her  deficiencies  in  prose  does  not  seem 
to  be  at  her  command  in  poetry.  The  Spanish  Gypsy 
reads  like  a  second-rate  production  of  the  Byronic 
school.  "  The  Legend  of  Jubal  "  and  "  How  Lisa 
loved  the  King "  suffer  by  comparison  with  the 
narrative  poems,  in  rhymed  pentameter,  of  Morris, 
Longfellow,  or  Stoddard.  A  little  poem  in  blank- 
verse,  entitled  "  O  may  I  join  the  choir  invisible  ! " 
and  setting  forth  her  conception  of  the  "religion  of 
humanity,"  is  worth  all  the  rest  of  her  poetry,  for  it 
is  the  outburst  of  an  exalted  soul,  foregoing  personal 
immortality  and  compensated  by  a  vision  of  the 
growth  and  happiness  of  the  human  race. 

Bulwer  was  another  novelist-poet,  and  one  of  the 
most  persistent.  During  middle  age  he  renewed  the 
efforts  made  in  his  youth  to  obtain  for  his  metrical 
writings  a  recognition  always  accorded  to  his  ingenious 
and  varied  prose-romance ;  but  whatever  he  did  in 


BULWER,   AND   THE  MAGAZINISTS. 


255 


verse  was  the  result  of  deliberate  intellect  and  culture. 
The  fire  was  not  in  him,  and  his  measures  do  not 
give  out  heat  and  light.  His  shorter  lyrics  never 
have  the  true  ring ;  his  translations  are  somewhat 
rough  and  pedantic ;  his  satires  were  often  in  poor 
taste,  and  brought  him  no  great  profit;  his  serio 
comic  legendary  poem  of  King  Arthur  is  a  monument 
of  industry,  but  never  was  labor  more  hopelessly 
thrown  away.  In  dramas  like  "  Richelieu "  and 
"  Cromwell "  he  was  more  successful ;  they  contain  pas 
sages  which  are  wise,  eloquent,  and  effective,  though 
rarely  giving  out  the  subtile  aroma  which  comes  from 
the  essential  poetic  principle.  Yet  Bulwer  had  an 
honest  love  for  the  beautiful  and  sublime,  and  his 
futile  effort  to  express  it  was  almost  pathetic. 

Many  of  his  odes  and  translations  were  contributed, 
I  think,  to  BlackwoocTs  magazine.  This  suggests  men 
tion  of  the  ephemeral  groups  of  lyrists  that  gathered 
about  the  serials  of  his  time.  Among  the  Blackwood 
writers,  Moir,  Aird,  —  a  Scotsman  of  some  imagina 
tion  and  fervor,  —  Simmons,  and  a  few  greater  or  lesser 
lights,  are  still  remembered.  Bentley's  was  the  mouth 
piece  of  a  rollicking  set  of  pedantic  and  witty  rhyme 
sters,  from  whose  diversions  a  book  of  comic  ballads 
has  been  compiled.  Fraser's,  The  Dublin  University, 
and  other  magazines,  attracted  each  its  own  staff  of 
verse-makers,  besides  receiving  the  frequent  assistance 
of  poets  of  wide  repute.  I  may  say  that  throughout 
the  period  much  creditable  verse  has  been  produced  by 
studious  men  who  have  given  poetry  the  second  place 
as  a  vocation.  Among  recent  productions  of  this 
class  the  historical  drama  of  Hannibal,  by  Professor 
Nichol,  of  Glasgow,  may  be  taken  as  a  type  and  a 
fair  example. 


The  maga 
zines  and 
their  con 
tributors. 


David  Mac 
beth  Moir: 
1798-1851. 

Thomas 
Aird: 
i8oa  -  62. 

B.  Sim- 
mons :  died 
1850. 


John 

Nichol: 

1833- 


256 


WADE,  — DOMETT. 


Diffusion  of 

inferior 

verse. 


Thomas 
Kibble 
Hervey : 
1799-1859. 

Martin 
Farquhar 
Tupper: 
1810- 

Rev.  Robert 
Montgom 
ery :  1807- 
55- 

A  few  men 
of  early 
promise. 

Thomas 
Wade: 
1805- 


A  If  red 
Domett: 
1811  - 

His  Black- 
wood  lyrics. 


With  respect  to  poetry,  as  to  prose,  the  coarser  and 
less  discriminating  appetite  is  the  more  widely  dif 
fused.  Create  a  popular  taste  for  reading,  and  an 
inferior  article  comes  to  satisfy  it,  by  the  law  of  sup 
ply  and  demand.  Hence  the  enormous  circulation  of 
didactic  artificial  measures,  adjusted  to  the  moral  and 
intellectual  levels  of  commonplace,  like  those  of  Her- 
vey,  Tapper,  and  Robert  Montgomery :  while  other 
poets  of  the  early  and  middle  divisions,  who  had 
sparks  of  genius  in  them,  but  who  Could  not  adapt 
themselves  to  either  the  select  or  popular  markets  of 
their  time,  found  the  struggle  too  hard  for  them,  and 
have  passed  out  of  general  sight  and  mind.  At  the 
very  beginning  of  the  period  Wade  gave  promise  of 
something  fine.  A  copy  of  his  Mundi  et  Cordis  lies 
before  me,  dated  1835.  It  is  marked  with  the  extrava 
gance  and  turgidity  which  soon  after  broke  out  among 
the  rhapsodists,  yet  shows  plainly  the  sensitiveness 
and  passion  of  the  poet.  The  contents  are  in  sym 
pathy  with,  and  like,  the  early  work  of  Shelley,  and 
various  poems  are  of  a  democratic,  liberal  stripe,  in 
spired  by  the  struggle  then  commencing  over  Europe. 
As  long  ago  as  1837  Domett  was  contributing  lyrics 
to  Blackwood  which  justly  won  the  favor  of  the  burly 
editor.  From  a  young  poet  who  could  throw  off  a 
glee  like  "  Hence,  rude  Winter,  crabbed  old  fellow ! " 
or  "  All  who  Ve  known  each  other  long,"  his  friends 
had  a  right  to  expect  a  brilliant  future.  But  he  was 
an  insatiable  wanderer,  and  could  "not  rest  from 
travel."  His  productions  dated  from  every  portion 
of  the  globe  •  finally  he  disappeared  altogether,  and 
ceased  to  be  heard  from,  but  his  memory  was  kept 
green  by  Browning's  nervous  characterization  of  him, 
—  "  What 's  become  of  Waring  ?  "  After  three  dec- 


SCOTT.— MRS.  ADAMS. 


'57 


ades  the  question  is  answered,  and  our  vagrant  bard 
returns  from  Australia  with  a  long  South  Sea  idyl, 
Ranolf  and  Amohia,  —  a  poem  justly  praised  by  Brown 
ing  for  varied  beauty  and  power,  but  charged  with 
the  diffuseness,  transcendentalism,  defects  of  art  and 
action,  that  were  current  among  Domett's  radical  breth 
ren  so  many  years  ago.  The  world  has  gone  by  him. 
The  lyrics  of  his  youth,  and  chiefly  a  beautiful  "  Christ 
mas  Hymn,"  are,  after  all,  the  best  fruits,  as  they  were 
the  first,  of  his  long  and  restless  life.  But  doubtless 
the  life  itself  has  been  a  full  compensation.  There 
also  was  Scott,  who  wrote  The  Year  of  the  World,  a 
poem  commended  by  our  Concord  Brahmin  for  its 
faithful  utilization  of  the  Hindoo  mythology.  The 
author,  a  distinguished  painter  and  critic,  is  now  one 
of  the  highest  authorities  upon  matters  pertaining  to 
the  arts  of  design.1  There  were  women  too :  among 
them,  Mrs.  Adams,  author  of  remembered  hymns, 
and  of  that  forgotten  drama  of  Vlvia  Perpetua,  —  a 
creature  whose  beauty  and  enthusiasm  drew  around 
her  the  flower  of  the  liberal  party ;  the  friend  of  Hunt 
and  Carlyle  and  W.  J.  Fox,  and  of  Browning  in  his 
eager  youth.  Of  many  such  as  these,  in  whom  the 
lyrical  aspiration  was  checked  by  too  profuse  admix 
ture  with  a  passion  for  affairs,  for  active  life,  for  arts 
of  design,  or  for  some  ardent  cause  to  which  they  be 
came  devoted,  or  who  failed,  through  extreme  sensibil 
ity,  to  be  calm  among  the  turbid  elements  about  them, 
—  of  such  it  may  be  asked,  where  are  they  and  their 


1  Mr.  Scott  has  now  published  his  miscellaneous  ballads,  stud 
ies  from  nature,  etc.,  —  many  of  them  written  years  ago,  —  in  a 
volume  to  which  his  own  etchings,  and  those  of  Alma  Tadema, 
give  additional  beauty. 


Thirty-five 

years  later. 


William 
Bell  Scott, 
1811- 


Sarah 
Flower 
Adams ." 
1805-48. 


258 


LO  VER.  —  ALLINGHAM. 


Poetry  a 
jealous  mis 
tress. 


The  song 
writers. 


Samuel 
Lover: 
1797  - 1868. 


William 
A  llingham 


productions,  except  in  the  tender  memory  and  honor 
of  their  early  comrades  and  friends  ?  Poetry  is  a  jeal 
ous  mistress :  she  demands  life,  worship,  tact,  the 
devotion  of  our  highest  faculties ;  and  he  who  refuses 
all  of  this  and  more  never  can  be,  first,  and  above 
his  other  attributes,  an  eminent  or  in  any  sense  a 
true  and  consecrated  poet. 


VI. 

WE  come  to  a  brood  of  minstrels  scattered  numer 
ously  as  birds  over  the  meadows  of  England,  the  rye- 
fields  of  Scotland,  and  the  green  Irish  hills.  They  are 
of  a  kind  which  in  any  active  poetic  era  it  is  a  pleas 
ure  to  regard.  They  make  no  claims  to  eminence. 
Their  work,  however,  though  it  may  be  faulty  and 
uneven,  has  the  charm  of  freshness,  and  comes  from 
the  heart.  The  common  people  must  have  songs ; 
and  the  children  of  a  generation  that  had  found 
pleasure  in  the  lyrics  of  Moore  and  Haynes  Bayley 
have  not  been  without  their  simple  warblers.  One 
of  the  most  lovable  and  natural  has  but  lately  passed 
away ;  Lover,  a  versatile  artist,  blitheful  humorist  and 
poet.  In  writing  of  Barry  Cornwall  I  have  referred 
to  the  essential  nature  of  the  song,  as  distinguished 
from  that  of  the  lyric,  and  in  Lover's  melodies  the 
former  is  to  be  found.  The  office  of  such  men  is  to 
give  pleasure  in  the  household,  and  even  if  they  are 
not  long  to  be  held  of  account  (though  no  one  can 
safely  predict  how  this  shall  be),  they  gain  a  prompt 
reward  in  the  affection  of  their  living  countrymen. 
We  find  spontaneity,  also,  in  the  rhymes  of  Ailing- 
ham,  whose  "  Mary  Donnelly  "  and  "  The  Fairies  " 
have  that  intuitive  grace  called  quality,  —  a  grace 


OTHER  SONG-WRITERS. 


259 


which  no  amount  of  artifice  can  ever  hope  to  pro 
duce,  and  for  whose  absence  mere  talent  can  never 
compensate  us.  The  ballads  of  Miss  Downing,  Waller, 
and  MacCarthy,  all  have  displayed  traces  of  the  same 
charm  ;  the  last-named  lyrist,  a  man  of  much  culture 
and  literary  ability,  has  produced  still  more  attractive 
work  of  another  kind.  Bennett,  within  his  bounds,  is 
a  true  poet,  who  not  only  has  composed  many  lovely 
songs,  but  has  been  successful  in  more  thoughtful 
efforts.  A  few  of  his  poems  upon  infancy  and  child 
hood  are  sweetly  and  simply  turned.  Dr.  Mackay,  in 
the  course  of  a  long  and  prolific  career,  has  furnished 
many  good  songs.  Some  of  his  studied  productions 
have  merit,  but  his  proper  gift  is  confined  to  lyrical 
work.  Among  the  remaining  Scottish  and  English 
song-makers,  Eliza  Cook,  the  Howitts,  Gilfillan,  and 
Swain  probably  have  had  the  widest  recognition  ;  all 
have  been  simple,  and  often  homely,  warblers,  having 
their  use  in  fostering  the  tender  piety  of  household 
life.  Miller,  a  mild  and  amiable  poet,  resembling  the 
Howitts  in  his  love  for  nature,  wrote  correct  and 
quiet  verse  thirty  years  ago,  and  was  more  noticeable 
for  his  rural  and  descriptive  measures  than  for  a  few 
conventional  songs. 

It  will  be  observed  that,  as  in  earlier  years,  the 
most  characteristic  and  impressive  songs  are  of  Irish 
and  Scottish  production  ;  and,  indeed,  lyrical  genius 
is  a  special  gift  of  the  warm-hearted,  impulsive  Celtic 
race.  Nations  die  singing,  and  Ireland  has  been  a 
land  of  song,  —  of  melodies  suggested  by  the  political 
distress  of  a  beautiful  and  unfortunate  country,  by  the 
poverty  that  has  enforced  emigration  and  brought 
pathos  to  every  family,  and  by  the  traditional  loves, 
hates,  fears,  that  are  a  second  nature  to  the  humble 


Mary 
Downing  .* 
1830- 

yohn  Fran 
cis  Waller: 
1810- 

Denis 

Florence 

MacCarthy: 

1817- 

William 
Cox  Ben 
nett:  1820- 

Charles 
Mackay  * 
1812- 

ElizaCook: 
1817- 

William 
Hewitt : 
1795- 

Mary  How- 
itt:  1804- 

Robert 
Gilfillan : 
1798-1850. 

Charles 
Swain : 
1803- 

Thomas 
Miller: 
1809-74. 

Irish  and 

Scottish 

songs. 


Patriotic 
ballads. 


260 


IRISH  MINSTRELSY. 


TJte  Dublin 

newspaper 

press. 

Gerald 
Griffin  : 
1803-40. 

John 

Banim : 
1798-  1842. 

Helen  Se- 
lina  Gifford, 
Countess  of 
Dufferin : 
1807-67. 

Thomas 
D'A  rcy 
McGee: 
1825-68. 

John  Kells 
Ingram  '. 
1820- 

Thomas 
Davis : 
1814-45. 

Sir  Charles 

Gavan 

Duffy: 

1816- 

John 
Keegan : 
1809-49. 

Lint  on  (see 

Chap. 

VIII.}. 

Mrs.  Varian 
("Finota"). 

Mrs.  W.  R. 

Wilde 

("  Speran- 

za"}. 

James 
Clarence 
Mangan  '. 
1803-49. 

Other 

democratic 

rhymesters. 


peasant.  All  Irish  art  is  faulty  and  irregular,  but 
often  its  faults  are  endearing,  and  in  its  discords 
there  is  sweet  sound.  That  was  a  significant  chorus 
which  broke  out  during  the  prosperous  times  of  The 
Nation,  thirty  years  ago,  and  there  was  more  than 
one  tuneful  voice  among  the  patriotic  contributors  to 
the  Dublin  newspaper  press.  Griffin  and  Banim,  novel 
ists  and  poets,  flourished  at  a  somewhat  earlier  date, 
and  did  much  to  revive  the  Irish  poetical  spirit. 
Read  Banim's  "  Soggarth  Aroon " ;  in  fact,  examine 
the  mass  of  poetry,  old  and  recent,  collected  in  Hayes' 
"  Ballads,"  with  all  its  poverty  and  riches,  and,  amid 
a  great  amount  of  rubbish,  we  find  many  genuine 
folk-songs,  brimming  with  emotion  and  natural  poetic 
fire.  Certain  ballads  of  Lady  Dufferin,  and  such  a 
lyric  as  McGee's  "Irish  Wife,"  are  not  speedily  for 
gotten.  Among  the  most  prominent  of  the  song- 
makers  were  the  group  to  which  I  have  referred, — 
Ingram,  Davis,  Duffy,  Keegan,  McGee,  Linton  (the 
English  liberal),  Mrs.  Varian,  Lady  Wilde,  and  others, 
not  forgetting  Mangan,  in  some  respects  the  most  origi 
nal  of  all.  These  political  rhymers  truthfully  repre 
sented  the  popular  feeling  of  their  own  day.  Their 
songs  and  ballads  will  be  the  study  of  some  future 
Macaulay,  and  are  of  the  kind  that  both  makes  and 
illustrates  national  history.  Their  object  was  not  art ; 
some  of  their  rhymes  are  poor  indeed ;  but  they  fairly 
belong  to  that  class  of  which  Fletcher  of  Saltoun 
wrote  :  "If  a  man  were  permitted  to  make  all  the 
ballads,  he  need  not  care  who  should  make  the  laws 
of  a  nation." 

Here,  too,  we  may  say  a  word  of  a  contemporary 
tribe  of  English  democratic  poets,  many  of  them 
springing  from  the  people,  who  kept  up  such  an  ala- 


CHARTIST  VERSE. 


261 


rum  during  the  Chartist  agitation.  After  Thorn,  the 
"  Inverury  poet,"  who  mostly  confined  himself  to  dia 
lect  and  genre  verses,  and  young  Nicoll,  who,  at  the 
beginning  of  our  period  strayed  from  Scotland  down 
to  Leeds,  and  poured  out  stirring  liberal  lyrics  during 
the  few  months  left  to  him,  —  after  these  we  come  to 
the  bards  of  Chartism  itself.  This  movement  lasted 
from  1836  to  1850,  and  had  a  distinct  school  of  its 
own.  There  was  Cooper,  known  as  "  the  Chartist 
poet."  Linton,  afterward  to  become  so  eminent  as 
an  artist  and  engraver,  was  equally  prolific  and  more 
poetical,  —  a  born  reformer,  who  relieved  his  eager 
spirit  by  incessant  poetizing  over  the  pseudonym  of 
"  Spartacus,"  and  of  whom  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
speak  again.  Ebenezer  Jones  was  another  Chartist 
rhymester,  but  also  composed  erotic  verse ;  a  man  of 
considerable  talent,  who  died  young.  These  men  and 
their  associates  were  greatly  in  earnest  as  agitators, 
and  often  to  the  injury  of  their  position  as  artists 
and  poets. 


William 
Thorn : 
1799-1850. 

Robert 
Nicoll: 
1814-37. 


Chartism. 


Thomas 
Cooper : 
1805- 


"  Sparta- 

CMS." 

Ebenezer 
Jones. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


Recent 
errors  and 
affectations. 


The  Rhafi- 
sadists ;  or 
the  "  Spas 
modic  '* 
school. 


"  Firmil- 
ian." 


THE  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 

FEW  of  the  minor  poets  belonging  to  the  middle 
division  of  our  period  have  been  of  the  healthy 
and  independent  cast  of  Kingsley,  Thackeray,  Thorn- 
bury,  or  Aytoun.  Some  have  servilely  followed  the 
vocal  leaders,  or  even  imitated  one  another, — the  law 
of  imitation  involving  a  lack  of  judgment,  and  caus 
ing  them  to  copy  the  heresies,  rather  than  the  virtues 
of  their  favorites  ;  and  we  are  compelled  to  observe 
the  devices  by  which  they  have  striven,  often  uncon 
sciously,  to  resist  adverse  influences  or  to  hide  the 
poverty  of  their  own  invention. 


I. 

THE  Chartist  or  radical  poets,  of  whom  we  have 
just  spoken,  were  the  forerunners  of  a  more  artistic 
group  whose  outpourings  the  wits  speedily  character 
ized  by  the  epithet  "  spasmodic."  Their  work  con 
stantly  affords  examples  of  the  knack  of  substitution. 
Mention  of  Aytoun  reminds  us  that  he  did  good  ser 
vice,  through  his  racy  burlesque,  Firmilian,  in  turning 
the  laugh  upon  the  pseudo-earnestness  of  this  rhap 
sodical  school.  Its  adherents,  lacking  perception  and 
synthesis,  and  mistaking  the  materials  of  poetry  for 


THE  RHAPSODISTS. 


263 


poetry  itself,  aimed  at  the  production  of  quotable 
passages,  and  crammed  their  verse  with  mixed  and 
conceited  imagery,  gushing  diction,  interjections,  and 
that  mockery  of  passion  which  is  but  surface-deep. 

Bailey  was  one  of  the  most  notable  of  this  group, 
and  from  his  earliest  production  may  be  termed  the 
founder  of  the  order.  Festus  certainly  made  an  im 
pression  upon  a  host  of  readers,  and  is  not  without 
inchoate  elements  of  power.  The  poet  exhausted 
himself  by  this  one  effort,  his  later  productions  want 
ing  even  the  semblance  of  force  which  marked  it  and 
established  the  new  emotional  school.  The  poets  that 
took  the  contagion  were  mostly  very  young.  Alex 
ander  Smith  years  afterward  seized  Bailey's  mantle, 
and  flaunted  it  bravely  for  a  while,  gaining  by  A 
Life-Drama  as  sudden  and  extensive  a  reputation  as 
that  of  his  master.  This  poet  wrote  of 

"  A  Poem  round  and  perfect  as  a  star," 

but  the  work  from  which  the  line  is  taken  is  not  of 
that  sort.  With  much  impressiveness  of  imagery  and 
extravagant  diction  that  caught  the  easily,  but  not 
long,  tricked  public  ear,  it  was  vicious  in  style,  loose 
in  thought,  and  devoid  of  real  vigor  or  beauty.  In 
after  years,  through  honest  study,  Smith  acquired  bet 
ter  taste  and  worked  after  a  more  becoming  purpose. 
His  prose  essays  were  charming,  and  his  City  Poems, 
marked  by  sins  of  omission  only,  may  be  rated  as 
negatively  good.  "  Glasgow  "  and  "  The  Night  before 
the  Wedding  "  really  are  excellent.  The  poet  became 
a  genuine  man  of  letters,  but  died  young,  and  when 
he  was  doing  his  best  work.  Massey,  another  emo 
tional  versifier,  came  on  (like  Ernest  Jones,  —  who 
went  out  more  speedily)  in  the  wake  of  the  Chartist 


Philip 
James 
Bailey : 
1816- 


A  lexander 
Smith : 
1830-67. 


Gerald 
Massey . 
1828- 


264 


BAILEY.  —  SMITH.  —  MASSEY.—  MACDONALD. 


George 
Macdonald . 
1824- 


Da-vid 
Gray  : 
1838-61. 


movement,  to  which  its  old  supporters  vainly  sought 
to  give  new  life  with  the  hopes  aroused  by  the  con 
tinental  revolutions  of  1848.  He  made  his  sensation 
by  cheap  rhetoric,  and  the  substitution  of  sentiment 
for  feeling,  in  an  otherwise  laudable  championship  of 
the  working-classes  from  which  he  sprang.  Sympathy 
for  his  cause  gained  his  social  verses  a  wide  hearing; 
but  his  voice  sounds  to  better  advantage  in  his  songs 
of  wedded  love  and  other  fireside  lyrics,  which  often 
are  earnest  and  sweet.  He  also  has  written  an  un 
usually  good  ballad,  "  Sir  Richard  Grenville's  Last 
Fight." 

The  latest  of  the  transcendental  poets  is  Macdon 
ald,  who  none  the  less  has  great  abilities  as  a  preacher 
and  novelist,  and  in  various  literary  efforts  has  shown 
himself  possessed  of  deep  emotion  and  a  fertile,  deli 
cate  fancy.  Some  of  his  realistic,  semi-religious  tales 
of  Scottish  life  are  admirable.  "  Light,"  an  ode,  is 
imaginative  and  eloquent,  but  not  well  sustained,  and 
his  poetry  too  often,  when  not  commonplace,  is  vague, 
effeminate,  or  otherwise  poor.  Is  it  defective  vision, 
or  the  irresistible  tendency  of  race,  that  inclines  even 
the  most  imaginative  North-Country  writers  to  what  is 
termed  mysticism?  A  "Celtic  glamour"  is  veiling  the 
muse  of  Buchanan,  —  of  whom  I  shall  write  more  fully 
hereafter, —  so  that  she  is  in  danger  of  confusing  her 
self  with  the  forgotten  phantoms  of  the  spasmodic 
school.  The  touching  story  and  writings  of  poor 
Gray  —  who  lived  just  long  enough  to  sing  his  own 
dirges,  and  died  with  all  his  music  in  him  —  reveal 
a  sensitive  temperament  unsustained  by  co-ordinate 
power.  Possibly  we  should  more  justly  say  that  his 
powers  were  undeveloped,  for  I  do  not  wholly  agree 
with  those  who  deny  that  he  had  genius,  and  who 


DAVID   GRAY. 


265 


think  his  work  devoid  of  true  promise.  The  limitless 
conceit  involved  in  his  estimate  of  himself  was  only 
what  is  secretly  cherished  by  many  a  bantling  poet, 
who  is  not  driven  to  confess  it  by  the  horror  of  im 
pending  death.  His  main  performance,  "  The  Luggie," 
shows  a  poverty  due  to  the  want  of  proper  literary 
models  in  his  stinted  cottage-home.  It  is  an  eigh 
teenth-century  poem,  suggested  by  too  close  reading 
of  Thomson  and  the  like.  Education,  as  compared 
with  aspiration,  comes  slowly  to  low-born  poets.  The 
sonnets  entitled  "  In  the  Shadows,"  written  during  the 
gradual  progress  of  Gray's  disease,  are  far  more  poet 
ical,  because  a  more  genuine  expression  of  feeling. 
They  are  indeed  a  painful  study.  Here  is  a  subjec 
tive  monody,  uttered  from  the  depths,  but  rounded 
off  with  that  artistic  instinct  which  haunts  a  poet  to 
the  last.  The  self-pity,  struggle,  self-discipline,  and 
final  resignation  are  inexpressibly  sorrowful  and  tragic. 
Gray  had  the  making  of  a  poet  in  him,  and  suffered 
all  the  agonies  of  an  exquisite  nature  contemplating 
the  swift  and  surely  coming  doom. 


II- 

AFTER  the  death  of  Wordsworth  the  influence  of 
Tennyson  and  that  of  Browning  had  more  effect  upon 
the  abundant  offerings  of  the  minor  poets.  In  the 
work  of  many  we  discover  the  elaboration  and  finesse 
of  an  art-method  superadded  by  the  present  Laureate 
to  the  contemplative  philosophy  of  his  predecessor; 
while  not  a  few,  impressed  by  Browning's  dramatic 
studies,  assume  an  abrupt  and  picturesque  manner, 
and  hunt  for  grotesque  and  mediaeval  themes.  Often 
the  former  class  substitute  a  commonplace  realism 
12 


Inflitence  of 
Tennyson 
and  Brown 
ing. 


False  sim 
plicity. 


266 


INFLUENCE  OF  TENNYSON  AND  BROWNING. 


Balzac  on 
the  true  mis 
sion  of  A  rt. 


Aphorisms 
of  William 
Blake. 


Coventry 
Kearsey 
Dighton 
Patmore ." 
1823- 


for  the  simplicity  of  Tennyson's  English  idyls,  just 
as  the  latest  aspirants,  trying  to  cope  with  the  Pre- 
Raphaelite  leaders,  whose  work  is  elevated  by  genius, 
carry  the  treatment  beyond  conscientiousness  into 
sectarianism,  and  divide  the  surface  of  Nature  from 
her  perspective,  laying  hold  upon  her  body,  yet  evaded 
by  her  soul.  Balzac  makes  a  teacher  say  to  his  pupil: 
"  The  mission  of  Art  is  not  to  copy  Nature,  but  to 
express  her.  You  are  not  a  vile  copyist,  but  a  poet ! 
Take  a  cast  from  the  hand  of  your  mistress  ;  place 
it  before  you  ;  you  will  find  it  a  horrible  corpse  with 
out  any  resemblance,  and  you  will  be  forced  to  resort 
to  the  chisel  of  an  artist,  who,  without  exactly  copy 
ing  it,  will  give  you  its  movement  and  its  life.  We 
have  to  seize  the  spirit,  the  soul,  the  expression,  of 
beings  and  things."  Many  of  Blake's  aphorisms  ex 
press  the  same  idea.  "  Practice  and  opportunity," 
he  said,  "very  soon  teach  the  language  of  art.  Its 
spirit  and  poetry,  centred  in  the  imagination  alone, 

never  can  be  taught ;  and  these  make  the  artist 

Men  think  they  can  copy  Nature  as  correctly  as  I 
copy  the  imagination.  This  they  will  find  impossible. 
.  .  Nature  and  Fancy  are  two  things,  and  never 
can  be  joined  ;  neither  ought  any  one  to  attempt  it, 
for  it  is  idolatry,  and  destroys  the  soul." 

Coventry  Patmore,  not  fully  comprehending  these 
truths,  has  made  verses  in  which,  despite  a  few 
lovely  and  attractive  passages,  the  simplicity  is  af 
fected  and  the  realism  too  bald.  A  carpet-knight  in 
poetry,  as  the  younger  Trollope  latterly  is  in  prose, 
he  merely  photographs  life,  and  often  in  its  poor  and 
commonplace  forms.  He  thus  falls  short  of  that  aris 
tocracy  of  art  which  by  instinct  selects  an  elevated 
theme.  It  is  better  to  beautify  life,  though  by  an 


PA  TMORE.  —  DOBELL.  —LYTTON. 


267 


illusive  reflection  in  a  Claude  Lorraine  mirror,  than 
to  repeat  its  every  wrinkle  in  a  sixpenny  looking- 
glass,  after  the  fashion  of  such  lines  as  these  :  — 

"  Restless,  and  sick  of  long  exile 

From  those  sweet  friends,  I  rode  to  see 
The  church  repairs ;  and,  after  a  while, 

Waylaying  the  Dean,  was  asked  to  tea. 
They  introduced  the  Cousin  Fred 

I  'd  heard  of,  Honor's  favorite  :  grave, 
Dark,  handsome,  bluff,  but  gently  bred, 

And  with  an  air  of  the  salt  wave. 
He  stared,  and  gave  his  hand,  and  I 

Stared  too,"  etc. 

This  is  not  the  simplicity  of  Wordsworth  in  his  better 
moods,  nor  of  the  true  idyllists,  nor  of  him  who  was 
the  simplest  of  all  poets,  yet  the  kingliest  in  manner 
and  theme. 

Sydney  Dobell,  a  man  of  an  eccentric  yet  very 
poetic  disposition,  had  the  faults  of  both  the  spas 
modic  and  realistic  modes,  and  these  were  aggravated 
by  a  desire  to  maintain  a  separate  position  of  his 
own.  His  notes  were  pitched  on  a  strident  key, 
piping  shrill  and  harsh  through  all  the  clamor  of  his 
fellow-bards.  "  Balder "  is  the  very  type  of  a  spas 
modic  drama.  "  The  Roman  "  is  a  healthier,  though 
earlier,  production,  at  least  devoid  of  egotism  and 
gush.  His  lyrics  constantly  strive  for  effect.  In 
"  How  's  My  Boy  ?  "  and  "  Tommy  's  Dead,"  he  struck 
pathetic,  natural  chords,  but  more  often  his  measures 
and  inversions  were  disagreeably  strange,  while  his 
sentiment  was  tame  and  his  action  slighted.  "  Owen 
Meredith,"  —  what  shall  be  said  of  the  author  of 
"  The  Wanderer,"  "  Clytemnestra,"  and  "  The  Apple 
of  Life"?  Certainly  not  that  "Chronicles  and  Char- 


Sydney 
Dobell: 
1824-74. 


Robert, 
Lord  Lyt- 
ton:  1831- 


268 


THE   TWO  BULWERS. 


acters,"  "  Orval,"  and  others  of  his  maturer  poems 
are  an  advance  upon  these  early  lyrics  which  so 
pleased  young  readers  half  a  generation  ago.  They 
are  not  open  to  criticism  that  will  apply  to  "  The 
Wanderer,"  etc.,  but  incur  the  severer  charge  of  dul- 
ness  which  must  preclude  them  from  the  welcome 
given  to  his  first  books.  "  Lucile,"  with  all  its  light 
ness,  remains  his  best  poem,  as  well  as  the  most 
popular:  a  really  interesting,  though  sentimental,  par 
lor-novel,  written  in  fluent  verse,  —  a  kind  of  pro 
duction  exactly  suited  to  his  gift  and  limitations. 
It  is  quite  original,  for  Lytton  adds  to  an  inherited 
talent  for  melodramatic  tale-writing  a  poetical  ear,  good 
knowledge  of  effect,  and  a  taste  for  social  excitements. 
His  society-poems,  with  their  sensuousness  and  af 
fected  cynicism,  present  a  later  aspect  of  the  quality 
that  commended  Ernest  Maltravers  and  Pelham  to 
the  young  people  of  a  former  day.  Some  of  his 
early  lyrics  are  tender,  warm,  and  beautiful ;  but 
more  are  filled  with  hot-house  passion,  —  with  the  ra 
diance,  not  of  stars,  but  of  chandeliers  and  gas-lights. 
The  Bulwers  always  have  been  a  puzzle.  Their  cul 
tured  talent  and  cleverness  in  many  departments  have 
rivalled  the  genius  of  other  men.  We  admire  their 
glittering  and  elaborate  structures,  though  aware  of 
something  hollow  or  stuccoed  in  the  walls,  columns, 
and  ceilings,  and  even  suspicious  of  the  floor  on 
which  we  stand.  Father  and  son,  —  their  love  of 
letters,  determination,  indomitable  industry,  have  com 
manded  praise.  The  son,  writing  in  poetry  as  nat 
urally  as  his  father  wrote  in  prose,  has  the  same 
adroitness,  the  same  unbounded  ambition,  the  same 
conscientiousness  in  labor  and  lack  of  it  in  method. 
In  his  metaphysical  moods  we  see  a  reflection  of  the 


The  two 
Bulwers. 


MINOR  IDYLLIC  SCHOOL. 


269 


clearer  Tennysonian  thought ;  and,  indeed,  while  in 
teresting  and  amusing  us,  he  always  was  something 
of  an  imitator.  His  lyrics  were  like  Browning's 
dramatic  stanzas ;  his  blank-verse  appropriated  the 
breaks  and  cadences  of  Tennyson,  and  ventured  on 
subjects  which  the  Laureate  was  long  known  to  have 
in  hand.  The  better  passages  of  "  Clytemnestra " 
were  taken  almost  literally  from  ^Eschylus.  Those 
versed  in  Oriental  poetry  have  alleged  that  his  wan 
derings  upon  its  borders  are  mere  forays  in  "fresh 
woods  and  pastures  new."  His  voluminous  later 
works,  in  which  every  style  of  poetry  is  essayed,  cer 
tainly  have  not  fulfilled  the  promise  of  his  youth, 
and  those  friends  are  disappointed  who  once  looked 
to  him  for  signs  of  a  new  poetical  dawn. 


III. 

THE  merits  and  weakness  of  the  idyllic  method,  as 
compared  with  that  of  a  time  when  a  high  lyric  or 
epic  feeling  has  prevailed,  can  best  be  studied  in  the 
productions  of  the  Laureate's  followers,  rather  than 
in  his  own  verse ;  for  the  latter,  whatever  the  method, 
would  derive  from  his  intellectual  genius  a  glory  and 
a  charm.  The  idyl  is  a  picturesque,  rather  than  an 
imaginative,  form  of  art,  and  calls  for  no  great  amount 
of  invention  or  passion.  It  invariably  has  the  method 
of  a  busy,  anxious  age,  seeking  rest  rather  than  ex 
citement.  Through  restrained  emotion,  music,  and 
picturesque  simplicity  it  pleases,  but  seems  to  betoken 
absence  of  creative  power.  The  minor  idyllists  hunt 
for  themes,  —  they  do  not  write  because  their  themes 
compel  them  •  they  construct  poems  as  still-life  artists 
paint  their  pictures,  becoming  thorough  workmen,  but 


Minor  idyl 
lic  poets. 


The  idyl. 


270 


F.  TENNYSON.  —  WOOLNER.  —LINTON. 


Frederick 
Tennyson, 


Charles 
( Tennyson) 
Turner. 


Ed-vin  Ar 
nold:  1832- 


Thomas 
Woolner, 
A.  R.  A.: 
1825- 


William 
James 
Lint  on: 
1812- 
See  page 
261. 


at  last  we  yearn  for  some  swift  heroic  composition 
whose  very  faults  are  qualities,  and  whose  inspiration 
fills  the  maker's  soul. 

Frederick  Tennyson,  for  example,  treats  outdoor 
nature  with  painstaking  and  curious  discernment,  re 
peating  every  shadow ;  but  the  result  is  a  pleasantly 
illustrated  catalogue  of  scenic  details.  It  is  nature 
refined  by  a  tasteful  landscape-gardener.  Few  late 
poets,  however,  have  shown  more  elegance  in  verse- 
structure  and  rhythm.  An  artistic  motive  runs  through 
his  poems,  all  of  which  are  carefully  finished  and  not 
marred  by  the  acrobatism  of  the  rhapsodic  school. 
Turner  (another  of  the  Tennyson  brothers)  is  utterly 
below  the  family  standard.  His  sonnets  do  not  con 
form  to  either  the  Italian  or  English  requirements, 
and  have  little  poetical  value.  Edwin  Arnold's  verse 
is  that  of  a  scholarly  gentleman.  The  books  of  Roden 
Noel  may  pass  without  comment.  My  Beautiful  Lady, 
by  Woolner,  is  a  true  product  of  the  art-school,  with 
just  that  tinge  of  gentle  affectation  which  the  name 
implies.  It  has  a  distinct  motive,  —  to  commemorate 
the  growth,  maintenance,  and  final  strengthening  by 
death,  of  a  pure  and  sacred  love,  and  is  a  votive 
tribute  to  its  theme :  a  delicate  volume  of  such  verse 
as  could  have  been  produced  in  no  other  time.  Lin- 
ton's  Claribel  and  Other  Poems,  1865,  distinctly  belongs 
to  the  same  school,  and  is  noteworthy  as  an  early 
specimen  of  a  method  frequently  imitated  by  the  latest 
poets.  At  the  date  of  its  appearance  this  pretty  vol 
ume  was  almost  unique,  —  the  twofold  work  of  the 
author,  as  artist  and  poet,  and  dedicated  to  William 
Bell  Scott,  a  man  of  sympathetic  views  and  associa 
tions.  We  have  seen  that  Linton's  early  writings  were 
devoted  to  liberal  and  radical  propagandism.  The 


volume  before  me  is  a  collection  of  more  finished 
poetry,  imbued  with  an  artistic  purpose,  and  with 
beauty  of  execution  and  design.  Few  men  have  so 
much  individuality  as  its  author,  or  are  more  versatile 
in  acquirements  and  adventure.  He  is  a  famous  en 
graver,  and  his  work  as  a  draughtsman  and  painter 
is  full  of  meaning.  These  gifts  are  used  to  heighten 
the  effect  of  his  songs ;  fanciful  and  poetical  designs 
are  scattered  along  the  pages  of  this  book ;  nor  can 
it  be  said  that  such  aids  are  meretricious,  in  these 
latter  days,  when  poetry  is  addressed  not  only  to  the 
ear  but  also  to  the  eye.  Some  of  the  verse  requires 
no  pictures  to  sustain  it.  A  "  Threnody "  in  memory 
of  Albert  Darasz  is  an  addition  to  the  few  good  and 
imaginative  English  elegiac  poems ;  and  it  may  be 
said  of  whatever  Linton  does,  that,  if  sometimes  ec 
centric,  it  shows  a  decisive  purpose  and  a  love  of  art 
for  its  own  sake.  Westwood's  "The  Quest  of  the  Sanc- 
greall"  marks  him  for  one  of  Tennyson's  pupils.  His 
minor  lyrics  are  more  pleasing.  All  these  poets  turn 
at  will  from  one  method  to  another,  and  may  be 
classed  as  of  the  composite  school.  Meredith's  verse 
is  a  further  illustration ;  he  is  dramatic  and  realistic, 
but  occasionally  ventures  upon  a  classical  or  romantic 
study.  He  often  fails  of  his  purpose,  though  usually 
having  one.  The  Poems  of  the  English  Roadside  seem 
to  me  his  most  original  work,  and  of  them  "Juggling 
Jerry"  is  the  best.  A  she  is  one  of  those  minor 
poets  who  catch  and  reflect  the  prevailing  mode  :  he 
belongs  to  the  chorus,  and  is  not  an  independent 
singer.  His  Poems,  1859,  are  mildly  classical  and 
idyllic;  but  in  1867  he  gave  us  The  Sorrows  of  Hyp- 
sipyle, —  after  Atalanta  in  Calydon  had  revived  an  in 
terest  in  dramatic  poetry  modelled  upon  the  antique. 


Thomas 

Wcstwood '. 
1814- 


George 
Meredith  : 
1828- 


Thomas 
A  she:  1836- 


2/2 


-VERS  DE  SOCI£T£} 


Vers  de 
societ^ 


including 
satire,  par* 
odyt  etc. 


Rev. 

Francis 
ATahoney  ' 
1805-66. 


Qualities  of 
good  society- 
verse. 


IV. 

OF  those  patrician  rhymes  which,  for  want  of  an 
English  equivalent,  are  termed  vers  de  societe,  the  gentle 
Praed,  who  died  at  the  commencement  of  the  period, 
was  an  elegant  composer.  In  verse  under  this  head 
may  also  be  included,  for  the  occasion,  epigrammatic 
couplets,  witty  and  satirical  songs,  and  all  that  metrical 
badinage  which  is  to  other  poetry  what  the  feuilleton 
is  to  prose.  During  the  first  half  of  our  retrospect  it 
was  practised  chiefly  by  scholarly  and  fluent  wits.  In 
the  form  of  satire  and  parody  it  was  cleverly  employed, 
we  have  seen,  by  Aytoun,  in  his  "  spasmodic  tragedy  " 
of  "Firmilian";  merrily,  too,  by  Aytoun  and  Martin 
in  the  Bon  Gualtier  ballads ;  by  Thackeray  in  "  Love- 
Songs  made  Easy,"  "Lyra  Hibernica,"  the  ballads  of 
"  Pleaceman  X.,"  etc. ;  by  Hood  in  an  interminable 
string  of  mirth  and  nonsense ;  and  with  mock-heroic 
scholarship  by  the  undaunted  Irish  wit,  poet,  and  Lat- 
inist,  "  Father  Prout,"  and  the  whole  jovial  cohort 
that  succeeded  to  the  foregoing  worthies  in  the  pages 
of  the  monthly  magazines.  But  with  the  restrained 
manners  of  the  present  time,  and  the  finish  to  which 
everything  is  subjected,  we  have  a  revival  of  the  more 
select  order  of  society-verse.  This  is  marked  by  an 
indefinable  aroma  which  elevates  it  to  the  region  of 
poetic  art,  and  owing  to  which,  as  to  the  imperishable 
essence  of  a  subtile  perfume,  the  lightest  ballads  of 
Suckling  and  Waller  are  current  to  this  day.  In  fine, 
true  vers  de  societe  is  marked  by  humor,  by  spontane 
ity,  joined  with  extreme  elegance  of  finish,  by  the 
quality  we  call  breeding,  —  above  all,  by  lightness  of 
toiich.  Its  composer  holds  a  place  in  the  Parnassian 
hemicycle  as  legitimate  as  that  of  Robin  Goodfellow 


MAHONEY.  —  LOCKER.  —  CALVERLEY.  —  DOBSON. 


273 


in  Oberon's  court.  The  dainty  lyrics  of  Locker  not 
unfrequently  display  these  characteristics  :  he  is  not 
strikingly  original,  but  at  times  reminds  us  of  Praed 
or  of  Thackeray,  and  again,  in  such  verses  as  "To 
my  Grandmother,"  of  an  American,  —  Dr.  Holmes. 
But  his  verse  is  light,  sweet,  graceful,  gayly  wise,  and 
sometimes  pathetic.  Calverley  and  Dobson  are  the 
best  of  the  new  farceurs,  Fly-Leaves,  by  the  former, 
contains  several  burlesques  and  serio-comic  transla 
tions  that  are  excellent  in  their  way,  with  most  agree 
able  qualities  of  fancy  and  thought.  Dobson's  Vign 
ettes  in  Rhyme  has  one  or  two  lyrics,  besides  lighter 
pieces  equal  to  the  best  of  Calverley's,  which  show 
their  author  to  be  not  only  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar, 
but  a  most  graceful  poet,  —  titles  that  used  to  be 
associated  in  the  thought  of  courtly  and  debonair 
wits.  Such  a  poet,  to  hold  the  hearts  he  has  won, 
not  only  must  maintain  his  quality,  but  strive  to  vary 
his  style ;  because,  while  there  is  no  work,  brightly  and 
originally  done,  which  secures  a  welcome  so  instant  as 
that  accorded  to  his  charming  verse,  there  is  none  to 
which  the  public  ear  becomes  so  quickly  wonted,  and 
none  from  which  the  world  so  lightly  turns  upon  the 
arrival  of  a  new  favorite  with  a  different  note. 

Society-verse,  then,  has  been  another  symptom  of 
cultured  and  refined  periods, —  of  the  times  of  Horace, 
Catullus,  Theocritus,  Waller,  Pope,  Voltaire,  Tenny 
son,  and  Thackeray.  The  intense  mental  activity  of 
our  own  era  is  still  more  clearly  evinced  by  the 
great  number  of  recent  English  versions  of  the  poetic 
masterpieces  of  other  tongues.  Oxford  and  Cam 
bridge  have  filled  Great  Britain  with  scholars,  some 
of  whom,  acquiring  rhythmical  aptness,  have  produced 

12*  R 


Frederick 

Locker: 

1824- 


Charles 
St-uart 
Calverley : 
1831- 


Austin  Dob- 
son:  1840- 


Other  tokens 
of  a  refined 
and  schol 
arly  period. 


Recent 
translators, 
and  the  new 
theory  of 

translation. 


2/4 


THE   TRANSLATORS. 


Sir  John 
Bo-wring '. 
1792-1872. 


The  elder 
Lytton. 


Theodore 
Martin : 
1816- 
Seepa.ge-2.T2. 

Horace^ 
Homer,  and 
their  trans 
lators. 


good  work  of  this  kind.  Modern  translations  differ 
noticeably,  in  their  scholastic  accuracy,  from  those  of 
earlier  date,  —  among  which  Chapman's  are  the  no 
blest,  Pope's  the  freest,  and  those  by  Hunt,  Shelley, 
and  Frere  scarcely  inferior  to  the  best.  The  theory 
of  translation  has  undergone  a  change  ;  the  old  idea 
having  been  that  as  long  as  the  spirit  of  a  foreign  au 
thor  was  reproduced  an  exact  rendering  need  not  be 
attempted.  But  to  how  few  it  is  given  to  catch  that 
spirit,  and  hence  what  wretched  versions  have  ap 
peared  from  time  to  time !  Only  natural  poets  worked 
successfully  upon  the  earlier  plan.  The  modern 
school  possibly  go  too  near  the  extreme  of  conscien 
tiousness,  yet  a  few  have  found  the  art  of  seizing 
upon  both  the  spirit  and  the  text.  The  amount  pro 
duced  is  amazing,  and  has  given  the  public  access,  in 
our  own  language,  to  the  choicest  treasures  of  almost 
every  foreign  literature,  be  it  old  or  new. 

In  the  earlier  division,  Bowring  was  the  most  pro 
lific,  and  he  has  also  published  several  volumes  of  a 
very  recent  date.  His  excursions  into  the  fields  of 
continental  literature  have  had  most  importance  ;  but 
his  versions,  however  valuable  in  the  absence  of  bet 
ter,  rarely  display  any  poetic  fire.  The  elder  Lytton 
was  a  fair  type  of  the  elegant  Latinists  and  minor 
translators  belonging  to  the  earlier  school.  His  best 
performance  was  a  recent  version  of  Horace,  in  me 
tres  resembling,  but  not  copied  from,  the  original,  — 
a  translation  more  faithful  than  Martin's  paraphrases, 
but  not  approaching  the  latter  in  elegance.  Martin's 
Horace  has  the  flavor  and  polish  of  Tennyson,  and 
plainly  is  modelled  upon  the  Laureate's  verse.  Of  all 
classical  authors  Horace  is  the  Briton's  favorite.  The 
statement  of  Bulwer's  preface  is  under  the  truth  when 


THE   TRANSLATORS. 


275 


it  says:  "Paraphrases  and  translations  are  still  more 
numerous  than  editions  and  commentaries.  There  is 
scarcely  a  man  of  letters  who  has  not  at  one  time  or 
other  versified  or  imitated  some  of  the  odes ;  and 
scarcely  a  year  passes  without  a  new  translation  of 
them  all."  Upon  Homer,  also,  the  poetic  scholars 
have  expended  immense  energy,  and  various  theories 
as  to  the  proper  form  of  measure  have  given  birth  to 
several  noble  versions,  —  distinguished  from  a  multi 
tude  of  no  worth.  Those  of  Wright,  Worsley,  Pro 
fessor  Newman,  Professor  Blackie,  and  Lord  Derby 
may  be  pronounced  the  best ;  though  admirable  bits 
have  been  done  by  Arnold,  Dr.  Hawtrey,  and  the 
Laureate.  I  do  not,  however,  hesitate  to  say  —  and 
believe  that  few  will  deny — that  the  ideal  translation 
of  Homer,  marked  by  swiftness,  simplicity,  and  gran 
deur,  has  yet  to  be  made  j  nor  do  I  doubt  that  it 
ultimately  will  be,  having  already  stated  that  our 
Saxon-Norman  language  is  finely  adapted  to  repro 
duce  the  strength  and  sweetness  of  the  early  Ionic 
Greek.  Professor  Conington's  Virgil,  in  the  measure 
of  "  Marmion,"  was  no  advance,  all  things  considered, 
upon  Dryden's,  nor  equal  to  that  of  the  American, 
Cranch.  Some  of  the  best  modern  translations  have 
been  made  by  women,  who,  following  Mrs.  Browning, 
mostly  affect  the  Greek.  Miss  Swanwick  and  Mrs. 
Webster,  among  others,  nearly  maintain  the  standard 
of  their  inspired  exemplar.  M.  P.  Fitz-Gerald's  ver 
sions  of  Euripides,  and  of  the  pastoral  and  lyric  Greek 
poets,  may  be  taken  as  specimens  of  the  general  ex 
cellence  now  attained,  and  I  will  not  omit  mention 
of  Calverley's  complete  rendition  of  Theocritus, — 
undoubtedly  as  good  as  can  be  made  by  one  who 
fears  to  undertake  the  original  metres.  Among  me- 


Ichabod 
Charles 
Wright: 
1795-1871. 

Philip 
Stanhope 
Worsley : 
died  1866. 

Francis 
William 
Newman .' 
1805- 

John  Stuart 
Blackie : 
1809- 

Edward, 
Lord 
Derby  : 
1799-1869. 

Rev. 
Edward 
Craven 
Hawtrey : 
1789-  1862. 
See  page  151. 

John  Con- 

ing-ton : 
1825-69. 


Anna 
Swanwick. 

Augusta 
Webster. 

Maurice 
Purcell 
Fitz-  Gerald. 


Calverley. 
Seepage  273. 


2/6 


THE   TRANSLATORS. 


Rossetti  and 
Morris. 
See  Chap.  X. 


MacCarthy. 
Seepage  259. 


Edward 
FitzGer- 
ald:  1809- 


See  Chap. 
VI.,  Page 
205. 


diaeval  and  modern  writers  Dante  and  Goethe  have 
received  the  most  attention;  but  Longfellow  and  Tay 
lor,  in  their  translations  of  the  Divine  Comedy  and 
of  Faust,  —  and  Bryant  in  his  stately  version  of  the 
Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  —  bear  off  the  palm  for  Amer 
ica  in  reproduction  of  the  Greek,  Italian,  and  Ger 
man  poems.  Of  Rossetti's  exquisite  presentation  of 
the  Early  Italian  Poets,  and  Morris's  Icelandic  re 
searches,  I  shall  speak  elsewhere,  and  can  only  make 
a  passing  reference  to  MacCarthy's  extended  and  beau 
tiful  selections  from  Calderon,  rendered  into  English 
asonante  verse.  Martin  has  made  translations  from 
the  Danish,  and,  together  with  Aytoun,  of  the  bal 
lads  of  Goethe.  Of  modern  Oriental  explorations, 
altogether  the  best  is  a  version  of  the  grave  and 
imaginative  Rubdiydt  of  Omar  Khayyam,  by  E.  Fitz- 
Gerald,  who  has  made  other  successful  translations 
from  the  Persian,  as  well  as  from  the  Spanish  and 
the  Attic  Greek. 

The  foregoing  are  but  a  few  of  the  host  of  transla 
tors  ;  but  their  labors  fairly  represent  the  richness 
and  excellence  of  this  kind  of  work  in  our  time, 
and  are  cited  as  further  illustrations  of  the  critical 
spirit  of  an  age  in  which  it  would  almost  seem  as  if 
the  home-field  were  exhausted,  such  researches  are 
made  into  the  literature  of  foreign  tongues.  I  again 
use  the  language  of  those  who  describe  the  Alexan 
drian  period  of  Greek  song :  men  "  of  tact  and 
scholarship  greatly  abound,"  and  by  elegant  studies 
endeavor  to  supply  the  force  of  nature.  Early  and 
strictly  non-creative  periods  of  English  literature  have 
been  similarly  characterized,  —  notably  the  century 
which  included  Pitt,  Rowe,  Cooke,  West,  and  Fawkes 
among  its  scholars  and  poets. 


HYMNOLOGY. 


277 


In  glancing  at  the  lyrical  poetry  of  the  era,  its 
hymnology  should  not  be  overlooked.  Religious  verse 
is  one  of  the  most  genuine  forms  of  song,  inspired 
by  the  loftiest  emotion,  and  rehearsed  wherever  the 
instinct  of  worship  takes  outward  form.  Written  for 
music,  it  is  lyrical  in  the  original  sense,  and  repre 
sentative,  even  more  than  the  domestic  folk-songs, 
of  our  common  life  and  aspiration.  We  are  not  sur 
prised  to  find  the  work  of  recent  British  hymn-writers 
displaying  the  chief  qualities  of  contemporary  secular 
poetry,  to  wit,  finish,  tender  beauty  of  sentiment  and 
expression,  metrical  variety,  and  often  culture  of  a 
high  grade.  What  their  measures  lack  is  the  lyrical 
fire,  vigor,  and  passionate  devotion  of  the  earlier 
time.  Within  their  province  they  reflect  the  method 
of  Tennyson,  and  —  with  all  their  polish  and  subtilty 
of  thought — write  devotional  verse  that  is  somewhat 
tame  beside  the  fervid  strains  of  Watts,  at  his  best, 
and  the  beautiful  lyrics  of  the  younger  Wesley.  In 
place  of  strength,  exaltation,  religious  ecstasy,  we 
have  elaborate  sweetness,  refinement,  emotional  re 
pose.  Many  hymn-writers  of  the  transition  period 
have  held  over  to  a  recent  time,  such  as  James 
Montgomery,  Keble,  Lyte,  Edmeston,  Bowring,  Mil- 
man,  and  Moir,  and  the  stanzas  of  the  first-named 
two  have  become  an  essential  portion  of  English 
hymnody.  The  best  results  accomplished  by  recent 
devotional  poets  —  and  this  also  is  an  outgrowth  of 
the  new  culture  —  have  been  the  profuse  and  admi 
rable  translations  of  the  ancient  and  mediaeval  Latin 
hymns  by  the  English  divines,  Chandler,  Neale,  and 
Caswall,  —  the  last-named  being  the  deftest  workman 
of  the  three,  although  the  others  may  be  credited  with  j 
equal  poetic  glow.  Among  the  most  successful  origi- 


Rccent  hytn- 
nology : 


Its  charac 
teristics. 


The  early 
and  later 
composers  of 
sacred  verse. 

Watts  and 
C.  Wesley. 

Montgom 
ery,  Keble, 
and  others. 

The  trans 
lators  : 

Rev.  John 
Chandler 
(Church  of 
England) : 
1806- 

A  rchbishap 
John  Mason 
Neale  (Ritu 
alist]  :  1818- 
66. 

Rev. 
Edivard 
Caswall 
(Church  of 
Rome) : 
1814- 

Original 
composers : 


27S 


DIALECT  VERSE. 


Rev.  Hora- 
tius  Bonarl 
1808- 
(S 'cattish 
Church.) 
Rev.  Fred 
erick  W. 
Faber: 
1814-63. 
(Church  of 
Rome.~) 
Mrs.  Ad 
ams.     ( Uni 
tarian.') 
See page 257. 
Charlotte 
Elliott: 
1789-1871. 
Rev.  Chris 
topher 
Words 
worth:  1807- 

J?ev.  Ar 
thur  Penh- 
ryn  Stan 
ley:  1815- 
Rev.  Sabine 
Baring- 
Gould:  1834- 

Rev.  Ed 
ward  Henry 
Bickersteth : 
1825- 

Hymns 
from  the 
German, 
and  their 
translators. 
Catherine 
Winkworth : 
1829- 

Frances 

Elizabeth 

Cox. 

Jane    _ 
Bothwick. 

Mrs.  Eric 

Bothwick 

Findlater. 

Edward 

Massie. 


nal  composers  Dr.  Bonar  should  be  mentioned, 
many  of  whose  hymns  are  so  widely  and  favorably 
known ;  Faber,  also,  is  one  of  the  best  and  most 
prolific  of  this  class  of  poets,  notable  for  the  sweet 
ness  and  beauty  of  his  sacred  lyrics.  Others,  such 
as  Dr.  Newman,  Dean  Trench,  Dean  Alford,  Pal- 
grave,  and  Mrs.  Adams,  have  been  named  elsewhere. 
I  will  barely  refer,  among  a  host  of  lesser  note,  to 
Miss  Elliott,  that  pure  and  inspired  sibyl,  to  Dr. 
Wordsworth,  Dean  Stanley,  and  Baring-Gould.  Bick 
ersteth,  whose  longest  poem,  like  the  writings  of 
Tupper,  has  had  a  circulation  strictly  owing  to  its 
theme  and  in  inverse  proportion  to  its  poetic  merits, 
has  composed  a  few  hymns  that  have  passed  into 
favor.  Excellent  service  also  has  been  rendered  by 
those  who  work  the  German  field,  and  it  is  notice 
able  that,  while  the  strongest  versions  from  the  Lat 
in  have  been  made  by  the  divines  before  named, 
the  most  successful  Germanic  translators  have  been 
women.  Among  them,  Miss  Winkworth,  who  in  1855 
and  1858  published  the  two  series  of  the  Lyra  Ger- 
manica ;  Miss  Cox,  editor  of  Sacred  Hymns  from  the 
German ,  1841  ;  and  the  Bothwick  sisters,  whose  Hymns 
from  the  Land  of  Luther  appeared  in  several  series, 
from  1854  to  1862.  Massie,  translator  of  Luther's 
Spiritual  Songs,  1854,  has  been  the  chief  competitor 
of  these  skilful  and  enthusiastic  devotees.  With  re 
spect  to  English  hymnody,  I  may  add  that  probably 
there  never  was  another  period  when  the  sacred 
lyrics  of  all  ages  were  so  carefully  edited,  brought 
together,  and  arranged  for  the  use  and  enjoyment  of 
the  religious  world. 

The  success  of  the  dialect-poets   is  a  special  mark 


SHAIRP.  —  IV A  UGH.  —  BARNES. 


279 


of  an  idyllic  period.  The  novel  and  pleasing  effect 
of  the  more  musical  dialects  often  has  been  used  to 
give  an  interest  to  mediocre  verse ;  and  close  atten 
tion  is  required  to  discriminate  between  the  true  and 
the  false  pretensions  of  lyrics  composed  in  the  Scotch, 
that  liquid  Doric,  or  even  in  the  rougher  phrases  of 
Lancashire,  Dorsetshire,  and  other  counties  of  Eng 
land.  Several  Scottish  bards,  of  more  or  less  merit, 
—  Thorn,  Ballantine,  Maclagan,  —  figured  early  in  the 
period.  More  lately,  Professor  Shairp's  highland  and 
border  lyrics,  faithful  enough  and  painstaking,  scarcely 
could  be  ranked  with  natural  song.  In  England, 
Lancashire  maintains  her  old  reputation  for  the  num 
ber  and  sweetness  of  her  provincial  songs  and  ballads. 
Waugh  is  by  far  the  best  of  her  recent  dialect-poets. 
To  say  nothing  of  many  other  little  garlands  of  poesy 
which  have  their  origin  in  his  knowledge  of  humble 
life  in  that  district,  the  Lancashire  Songs  have  gained 
a  wide  reception  by  pleasing,  truthful  studies  of 
their  dialect  and  themes.  Barnes,  an  idyllic  and 
learned  philologist,  has  done  even  better  work  in  his 
bucolic  poems  of  Dorsetshire,  and  his  Poems  of  Rural 
Life  (in  common  English)  are  very  attractive.  The 
minor  dialect-verses  of  England,  such  as  the  street- 
ballads  and  the  sea-songs  of  many  a  would-be  Dibdin, 
are  unimportant  and  beyond  our  present  view. 


V. 

LEAVING  the  specialists,  it  is  observable  that  the 
voices  of  the  female  poets,  if  not  the  best-trained,  cer 
tainly  are  as  natural  and  independent  as  any.  Their 
utterance  is  less  finished,  but  also  shows  less  of  Tenny 
son's  influence,  and  seems  to  express  a  truly  feminine 


Dialect- 
verse. 


Thorn.     See 
page  261. 

James 
Ballantine  ' 
1808- 

A  lexander 
Maclagan : 
1811- 

John 
Campbell 
Shairp .' 
1819- 

Edivin 
Waugh : 
1817- 


Rev. 
William 
Barnes  '. 
1810- 


Female 
poets. 


280 


JEAN  INGELOW.—  CHRISTINA   ROSSETTL 


jfean  Inge- 
low:  1830- 


A  delaide 
A  nne  Proc 
ter:  1825- 
64.     See 
page  107. 


I  so.  Craig' 
1831- 

Christina 
Georgina 
Rossetti: 

1830- 


emotion  and  to  come  from  the  heart.  As  the  voice 
of  Mrs.  Browning  grew  silent,  the  songs  of  Miss  Inge- 
low  began,  and  had  instant  and  merited  popularity. 
They  sprung  up  suddenly  and  tunefully  as  skylarks 
from  the  daisy-spangled,  hawthorn-bordered  meadows 
of  old  England,  with  a  blitheness  long  unknown,  and 
in  their  idyllic  underflights  moved  with  the  tenderest 
currents  of  human  life.  Miss  Ingelow  may  be  termed 
an  idyllic  lyrist,  her  lyrical  pieces  having  always  much 
idyllic  beauty,  and  being  more  original  than  her  recent 
ambitious  efforts  in  blank-verse.  Her  faults  are  those 
common  to  her  sex,  —  too  rapid  composition,  and  a 
diffuseness  that  already  has  lessened  her  reputation. 
But  "  The  High  Tide  on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire " 
(with  its  quaint  and  true  sixteenth-century  dialect), 
" Winstanley,"  "Songs  of  Seven,"  and  "The  Long 
White  Seam,"  are  lyrical  treasures,  and  their  author 
especially  may  be  said  to  evince  that  sincerity  which 
is  poetry's  most  enduring  warrant.  The  gentle  stanzas 
of  Miss  Procter  also  are  spontaneous,  as  far  as  they 
go,  but  have  had  less  significance  as  part  of  the  litera 
ture  of  the  time.  Yet  it  is  like  telling  one's  beads, 
or  reading  a  prayer-book,  to  turn  over  her  pages, — 
so  beautiful,  so  pure  and  unselfish  a  spirit  of  faith, 
hope,  and  charity  pervades  and  hallows  them.  These 
women,  with  their  melodious  voices,  spotless  hearts, 
and  holy  aspirations,  are  priestesses  of  the  oracle. 
Their  ministry  is  sacred  •  in  their  presence  the  most 
irreverent  become  subdued.  I  do  not  find  in  the 
lyrics  of  Miss  Craig,  the  Scottish  poetess,  anything 
better  than  the  ode  in  honor  of  Burns,  which  took  the 
centenary  prize.  Miss  Rossetti  demands  closer  atten 
tion.  She  is  a  woman  of  genius,  whose  songs,  hymns, 
ballads,  and  various  lyrical  pieces  are  studied  and 


NEO-ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


281 


original.  I  do  not  greatly  admire  her  longer  poems, 
which  are  more  fantastic  than  imaginative ;  but  else 
where  she  is  a  poet  of  a  profound  and  serious  cast, 
whose  lips  part  with  the  breathing  of  a  fervid  spirit 
within.  She  has  no  lack  of  matter  to  express;  it  is 
that  expression  wherein  others  are  so  fluent  and  adroit 
which  fails  to  serve  her  purpose  quickly  ;  but  when, 
at  last,  she  beats  her  music  out,  it  has  mysterious  and 
soul-felt  meaning.  Another  woman-poet  is  Mrs.  Web 
ster,  already  mentioned  as  a  translator.  For  many 
poetic  qualities  this  lady's  work  is  nearly  equal,  in 
several  departments  of  verse,  to  that  of  the  best  of 
her  sister  artists ;  and  I  am  not  sure  but  her  general 
level  is  above  them  all.  She  has  a  dramatic  faculty 
unusual  with  women,  a  versatile  range,  and  much 
penetration  of  thought ;  is  objective  in  her  dramatic 
scenes  and  longer  idyls,  which  are  thinner  than  Brown 
ing's,  but  less  rugged  and  obscure ;  shows  great 
culture,  and  is  remarkably  free  from  the  tricks  and 
dangerous  mannerism  of  recent  verse. 


VI. 

THE  minor  poetry  of  the  last  few  years  is  of  a 
strangely  composite  order,  vacillating  between  the  art 
of  Tennyson  and  the  grotesqueness  of  Browning,  while 
the  latest  of  all  illustrates,  in  rhythmical  quality,  the 
powerful  effect  Swinburne's  manner  already  has  had 
upon  the  poetic  ear.  We  can  see  that  the  long-unpop 
ular  Browning  at  length  has  become  a  potent  force 
as  the  pioneer  of  a  half -dramatic,  half-psychological 
method,  whose  adherents  seek  a  change  from  the  idyl 
lic  repose  of  the  Laureate  and  his  followers.  With 
this  intent,  and  with  a  strong  leaning  toward  the  art- 


A  ugusta 
Webster. 


The  latest 
schools. 


Psychofagi 
caland  Neo 
R '  o  mantle 
poets. 


282 


E  VANS.  —  SIMCOX.  —  MARSTON.  —  HAKE. 


studies  and  convictions  of  the  Rossetti  group,  a  Neo- 
Romantic  School  has  arisen,  and  many  of  the  prom 
ising  younger  aspirants  are  upon  its  roll. 

Among  recent  volumes  decidedly  in  the  manner  of 
Browning  may  be  mentioned  Brother  Fabian's  Manu 
script ;  and  Other  Poems,  by  Evans.  On  the  other 
side,  Simcox's  Poems  and  Romances  are  elaborate  and 
curious  romantic  studies,  resembling  works  of  this  sort 
by  Morris  and  Rossetti.  P.  B.  Marston  inherits  a 
poetic  gift  from  his  father  (John  Westland  Marston, 
author  of  "  The  Patrician's  Daughter  "  and  many  other 
plays).  The  son  is  of  the  new  school.  I  do  not 
remember  any  experimental  volume  that  has  shown 
more  artistic  perfection  than  his  Song-Tide  and  Other 
Poems.  His  sonnets  and  lyrics  approach  those  of 
Rossetti  in  terseness  and  beauty,  and,  while  he  pos 
sesses  more  restraint  than  others  of  his  group,  there 
is  extreme  feeling,  pathetic  yearning,  and  that  self- 
pity  which  is  consolation,  in  his  sonnets  of  a  love 
that  has  been,  and  is  gone,  —  of  "  the  joy  that  was,  is 
not,  and  cannot  be."  It  is  said  that  Marston  is 
blind,  but  not  from  birth ;  and  certainly  his  imagina 
tion  finely  supplies  the  want  of  outward  vision  in 
these  picturesque  and  deeply  emotional  poems. 

Sometimes,  in  a  garden  that  has  changed  owners 
and  has  been  replanted  with  exotics  of  brilliant  and 
various  hues,  the  visitor  is  struck  with  surprise  to  see 
a  sweet  and  sturdy  native  flower  sprung  up  of  itself, 
amid  the  new-fangled  exuberance,  from  seed  dropped 
in  a  season  long  gone  by.  It  is  with  a  kindred 
feeling  that  we  examine  Dr.  Hake's  volume,  Made 
line,  and  Other  Poems  and  Parables,  so  strangely  and 
pleasantly  different  from  the  contemporary  mode.  It 
is  filled  with  quaint,  grave,  thoughtful  measures,  that 


WA  RREN.  —  PA  YNE. 


283 


remind  us,  by  their  devotion,  of  Herbert  or  Vaughan, 
—  by  their  radical  insight,  of  the  plain-spoken  hom 
ilies  of  a  time  when  England's  clergymen  believed 
what  they  preached,  —  and,  by  their  emblematic  and 
symbolic  imagery,  of  Francis  Quarles.  "  Old  Souls," 
"  The  Lily  of  the  Valley,"  and  other  parables,  are 
well  worth  close  reading,  and  possibly  are  the 
selectest  portion  of  this  very  original  writer's  verse. 
Warren's  Philoctetes,  an  antique  drama,  is  a  good  ex 
ample  of  the  excellence  attained  in  this  kind  of  work 
by  the  new  men.  It  is  close,  compact,  Grecian,  less 
rich  with  poetry  and  music  than  "  Atalanta,"  but  even 
more  statuesque  and  severe.  This  poet  is  of  the 
most  cultured  type.  His  Rehearsals  is  a  collection 
of  verses  that  generally  show  the  influence  of  Swin 
burne,  but  include  a  few  psychological  studies  in  a 
widely  different  vein.  He  is  less  florid  and  ornate 
than  his  favorite  master  ;  all  of  his  work  is  highly 
finished,  and  much  of  it  very  effective.  Among  his 
other  successes  must  be  reckoned  an  admirable  use 
of  the  stately  Persian  quatrain.  Payne  is  a  more 
open  and  pronounced  disciple  of  the  Neo-Romantic 
school.  His  first  book,  The  Masque  of  Shadows,  is  a 
collection  of  mystical  "romaunts,"  containing  much 
old-fashioned  diction,  in  form  reminding  us  of  Morris's 
octo-syllabic  measures,  but  pervaded  by  an  allegorical 
spirit.  In  his  Intaglios  we  have  a  series  of  sonnets 
inscribed,  like  those  of  Rossetti,  to  their  common 
master,  Dante.  Finally,  the  volume  entitled  Songs  of 
Life  and  Death  shows  the  influence  of  Swinburne,  so 
that  his  works,  if  brought  together,  would  present  a 
curious  mixture  and  reflection  of  styles.  Neverthe 
less,  this  young  poet  has  fire,  imagination,  and  other 
inborn  qualities,  and  should  be  entirely  competent 


John. 

Leicester 

Warren. 


John  Payne: 
1843- 


CPSHA  UGHNESSY.  —MARZIALS. 


to  achieve  distinction  in  a  manner  plainly  original. 
His  friend  O'Shaughnessy,  another  man  who  appears 
to  have  the  natural  faculty,  is  moving  on  a  parallel 
line.  Music  and  Moonlight,  his  latest  volume,  is  no 
advance  upon  the  Lays  of  France,  —  a  highly  poetical, 
though  somewhat  extravagant  adaptation  of  the  Lais 
de  Marie,  composed  in  the  new  manner,  but  showing, 
in  style  and  measure,  that  the  author  has  a  person 
ality  of  his  own.  The  "  Lays  "  resemble  the  work  of 
Morris  rather  than  that  of  Swinburne ;  but  "  Music 
and  Moonlight,"  and  the  author's  first  venture,  An 
Epic  of  Women,  are  full  of  the  diction  and  sugges 
tions  of  the  last-named  poet.  When  this  romancer 
becomes  lyrical,  he  is  vague  and  far  less  pleasing 
than  in  his  narrative-verse.  He,  too,  needs  to  shake 
off  external  influences,  and  acquire  a  definite  purpose, 
before  we  can  attempt  to  cast  his  horoscope.  Both 
Payne  and  O'Shaughnessy  have  thus  far  shown 
themselves,  by  culture  and  affinity,  to  be  pupils  of 
the  French  Romantic  school,  so  elaborate  in  style 
and  subtile  in  allusions,  but  not  really  broad  or 
healthy  in  manner  and  design.  Its  romanticism,  as 
a  new  element  added  to  English  poetry,  is  worth 
something,  and  I  hope  that  its  beauty  will  survive 
its  defects.  It  is  an  exotic,  but  English  literature 
(like  English  architecture,  sculpture,  and  music)  is  so 
thickly  grafted  with  exotic  scions  as  to  yield  little 
fruit  that  comes  wholly  from  the  parent  stock. 

In  order  to  test  the  new  method,  let  us  study  it 
when  carried  to  an  extreme.  This  is  done  by  Mar- 
zials,  whose  poems  are  the  result  of  Provencal  studies. 
In  The  Gallery  of  Pigeons,  and  other  Poems,  he  turns 
his  back  upon  a  more  serene  deity,  and  vows  alle 
giance  to  the  Muse  of  Fantasy,  or  (as  he  prefers  to 


THE  MUSE   OF  FANTASY. 


281 


write  it)  "Phantasy."  At  first  sight  his  volume  seems 
a  burlesque,  and  certainly  would  pass  for  as  clever 
a  satire  as  "  Firmilian."  How  else  can  we  interpret 
such  a  passage  as  this,  which  is  neither  more  nor 
less  affected  than  the  greater  portion  of  our  author's 
work  ?  — 

"  They  chase  them  each,  below,  above,  — 
Half  maddened  by  their  minstrelsy, — 
Thro'  garths  of  crimson  gladioles ; 

And,  shimmering  soft  like  damoisels, 
The  angels  swarm  in  glimmering  shoals, 
And  pin  them  to  their  auricles, 

And  mimick  back  their  ritournels." 

The  long  poem  of  which  this  is  a  specimen  is  aptly 
named  "A  Conceit."  Then  we  have  a  pastoral  of 
"  Passionate  Dowsabella,"  and  her  rival  Blowselind. 
Again,  "A  Tragedy,"  beginning, 

"  Death ! 

Plop. 
The  barges  down  in  the  river  flop," 

and  ending, 

"  Drop 
Dead. 
Plop,  flop. 
Plop." 

Were  this  written  by  a  satirist,  it  would  be  deemed 
the  wildest  caricature.  Read  closely,  and  you  see 
that  this  fantastic  nonsense  is  the  work  of  an  artist ; 
that  it  has  a  logical  design,  and  is  composed  in 
serious  earnest.  Throughout  the  book  there  is  melo 
dy,  color,  and  much  fancy  of  a  delicate  kind.  Here 
is  a  minstrel,  with  his  head  turned  by  a  false  method, 
and  in  very  great  danger,  I  should  say.  But  lyrical 
absurdities  are  so  much  the  fashion  just  now  in  Eng- 


Poetry  of 
the  fantastic 
and  gro 
tesque. 


286 


RECENT  CRITICISM. 


Want  of 

•wholesome 

criticism. 


"  Scholar's 
work  in 
poetry" 


See  pages 
205,  206. 


Thefore- 
going  list  of 
poets  selected 
to  represent 
the  mass. 


land,  that  reviewers  seem  complacently  to  accept  them. 
It  is  enough  to  make  us  forgive  the  Georgian  critics 
their  brutality,  and  cry  out  for  an  hour  of  Jeffrey  or 
Gifford  !  To  see  how  these  fine  fellows  plume  them 
selves  !  They  intensify  the  mannerism  of  their  leader, 
but  do  not  sustain  it  by  his  imagination,  fervor,  and 
tireless  poetic  growth. 

Every  effort  is  expended  upon  decoration  rather 
than  construction,  and  upon  construction  rather  than 
invention,  by  the  minor  adherents  of  the  romance 
school.  In  critical  notices,  which  the  British  pub 
lishers  are  wont  to  print  on  the  fly-leaves  of  their 
books  of  verse,  praise  is  frequently  bestowed  upon 
the  contents  as  "  excellent  scholar's  work  in  poetry." 
Poetry  is  treated  as  an  art,  not  as  an  inspiration. 
Moreover,  just  as  in  the  Alexandrian  period,  researches 
are  made  into  the  early  tongue;  "antique  and  quaint 
words "  are  employed ;  study  endeavors  to  supply  the 
force  of  nature,  and  too  often  hampers  the  genius  of 
true  poets.  Renaissance,  and  not  creation,  is  the  aim 
and  process  of  the  day. 


VII. 

IN  the  foregoing  review  of  the  course  of  British 
minor  poetry  during  the  present  reign  I  have  not 
tried  to  be  exhaustive,  nor  to  include  all  the  lesser 
poets  of  the  era.  The  latter  would  be  a  difficult 
task,  for  the  time,  if  not  creative,  has  been  abun 
dantly  prolific.  Of  modern  minstrels,  as  of  a  certain 
class  of  heroes,  it  may  be  said,  that  "  every  year  and 
month  sends  forth  a  new  one";  the  press  groans  with 
their  issues.  My  effort  has  been  to  select  from  the 
large  number,  whose  volumes  are  within  my  reach, 


ERRORS  OF  THE  MINOR  POETS. 


287 


such  names  as  represent  the  various  phases  consid 
ered.  Although  I  have  been  led  insensibly  to  men 
tion  more  than  were  embraced  in  my  original  design, 
doubtless  some  have  been  omitted  of  more  repute  or 
merit  than  others  that  have  taken  their  place.  But 
enough  has  been  said  to  enable  us  to  frame  an  an 
swer  to  the  questions  implied  at  the  outset :  The 
spirit  of  later  British  poetry  ;  is  it  fresh  and  proud 
with  life,  buoyant  in  hope,  and  tuneful  with  the  melody 
of  unwearied  song?  Again;  has  the  usage  of  the  time 
eschewed  gilded  devices  and  meretricious  effect?  Is 
it  essentially  simple,  creative,  noble,  and  enduring  ? 

Certainly,  with  respect  to  what  has  been  written  by 
poets  of  the  meditative  school,  the  former  question 
cannot  be  answered  in  the  affirmative.  With  much 
simplicity  and  composure  of  manner,  they  have  been 
tame,  perplexed,  and  more  or  less  despondent.  The 
second  test,  applied  to  those  guided  by  Tennyson, 
Browning,  and  Swinburne,  —  and  who  have  more  or 
less  succeeded  in  catching  the  manner  of  these  greater 
poets,  —  is  one  which  their  productions  fail  to  un 
dergo  successfully.  It  may  be  said  that  the  charac 
teristics  of  the  early  Victorian  schools — distinguished 
from  those  of  famous  poetic  epochs  —  have  been 
reflective,  sombre,  metaphysical,  rather  than  fruitful, 
spontaneous,  and  joyously  inspired ;  while  those  of 
the  later  section  are  more  related  to  culture  and  ele 
gant  artifice,  than  to  the  interpretation  of  nature  or 
the  artistic  presentation  of  essential  truth.  The  minor 
idyllists,  romancers,  and  dramatic  lyrists  have  pos 
sessed  much  excellence  of  expression,  but  do  not 
subordinate  this  to  what  is  to  be  expressed.  They 
laboriously,  therefore,  hunt  for  themes,  and  in  various 
ways  endeavor  to  compromise  the  want  of  virile  imagi- 


Questions 
originally 
suggested. 


Tone  of  the 
minor  philo 
sophic  poets. 


The  idyl- 
lists,  ro 
mancers, 
and  others. 


288 


THE   TRUE  FUNCTION  OF  ART. 


Ruskin  upon 
Art  as  a, 
means  of 
expression. 


His  own 
word-paint 
ing. 


nation.  Ruskin,  who  always  has  made  an  outcry  against 
this  frigid,  perverted  taste,  established  a  correct  rule 
in  the  first  volume  of  Modern  Painters,  applying  it  to 
either  of  the  fine  arts  :  "  Art,"  he  said,  "  with  all  its 
technicalities,  difficulties,  and  particular  ends,  is  noth 
ing  but  a  noble  and  expressive  language,  invaluable 

as  the  vehicle  of  thought,  but  by  itself  nothing 

Rhythm,  melody,  precision,  and  force  are,  in  the  words 
of  the  orator  and  poet,  necessary  to  their  greatness, 
but  not  the  tests  of  their  greatness.  It  is  not  by  the 
mode  of  representing  and  saying,  but  by  what  is 
represented  and  said,  that  the  respective  greatness 
either  of  the  painter  or  writer  is  to  be  finally  deter 
mined It  is  not,  however,  always  easy,  either 

in  painting  or  literature,  to  determine  where  the  in 
fluence  of  language  stops  and  where  that  of  thought 

begins But    the    highest    thoughts    are    those 

which  are  least  dependent  on  language,  and  the  dig 
nity  of  any  composition  and  the  praise  to  which  it  is 
entitled  are  in  exact  proportion  to  its  independency 
of  language  or  expression."  Ruskin's  own  rhetorical 
gifts  are  so  eminent,  formerly  leading  him  into  word- 
painting  for  their  display,  that  he  pronounces  deci 
sively  on  this  point,  as  one  who  does  penance  for  a 
besetting  fault.  He  might  have  added  that  the  high 
est  thought  naturally  finds  a  noble  vehicle  of  expres 
sion,  though  the  latter  does  not  always  include  the 
former.  To  a  certain  extent  he  implies  this,  in  his 
statement  of  a  difference  (which  frequently  confronts 
the  reader  of  these  late  English  poets)  between  what 
is  ornamental  in  language  and  what  is  expressive  : 
this  distinction  "  is  peculiarly  necessary  in  painting ; 
for  in  the  language  of  words  it  is  nearly  impossible 
for  that  which  is  not  expressive  to  be  beautiful,  ex- 


CONSTRUCTION  AND  DECORATION. 


289 


cept  by  mere  rhythm  or  melody,  any  sacrifice  to  which 
is  immediately  stigmatized  as  error."  Upon  this  point 
Arnold  well  calls  attention  to  Goethe's  statement  that 
"what  distinguishes  the  artist  from  the  amateur  is 
architectonike  in  the  highest  sense  \  that  power  of  ex 
ecution  which  creates,  forms,  and  constitutes  :  not  the 
profoundness  of  single  thoughts,  not  the  richness  of 
imagery,  not  the  abundance  of  illustration." 

The  rule  of  architecture  may  safely  be  applied  to 
poetry, — that  construction  must  be  decorated,  not  dec 
oration  constructed.  The  reverse  of  this  is  practised 
by  many  of  these  writers,  who  are  abundantly  supplied 
with  poetical  material,  with  images,  quaint  words,  con 
ceits,  and  dainty  rhymes  and  alliteration,  and  who 
laboriously  seek  for  themes  to  constitute  the  ground 
work  over  which  these  allurements  can  be  displayed. 
Having  not  even  a  definite  purpose,  to  say  nothing 
of  real  inspiration,  their  work,  however  curious  in 
technique,  fails  to  permanently  impress  even  the 
refined  reader,  and  never  reaches  the  heart  of  the 
people,  —  to  which  all  emotional  art  is  in  the  end 
addressed.  Far  more  genuine,  as  poetry,  is  the  rude 
spontaneous  lyric  of  a  natural  bard,  expressing  the 
love,  or  patriotism,  or  ardor,  to  which  the  common 
pulse  of  man  beats  time.  The  latter  outlasts  the 
former ;  the  former,  however  acceptable  for  a  while, 
inevitably  passes  out  of  fashion, — being  but  a  fashion, 
—  and  is  sure  to  repel  the  taste  of  those  who,  in  an 
other  age,  may  admire  some  equally  false  production 
that  has  come  in  vogue. 

Judged  by  the  severe  rule  which  requires  soul, 
matter,  and  expression,  all  combined,  does  the  char 
acter  of  recent  minor  poetry  of  itself  give  us  cause 
to  expect  a  speedy  renewal  of  the  imaginative  periods 
13  s 


Goethe's 
statement. 


Construction 
and  decora 
tion.     See 
also  page 
286. 


The  present 
outlook. 


ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA. 


British  and 
A  merican 
minor  poets 
contrasted. 


Freshness 
and  individ 
uality  of  the 
latter. 


See  Chap. 
XI. 


of  British  song  ?  To  apply  another  test  which  is  like 
holding  a  mirror  up  to  a  drawing,  suppose  that  the 
younger  American  singers  were  wholly  devoted  to 
work  of  the  scholastic  dilettant  sort,  would  not  their 
poetry  be  subjected  to  still  more  neglect  and  contu 
mely  than  it  has  received  from  English  critics  ?  On 
the  whole,  our  poets  do  not  occupy  themselves  with 
mediaeval  and  classical  studies,  with  elaborate  alliter 
ations,  curious  measures,  and  affected  refrains.  Yet 
they  have  a  perfect  right  to  do  this,  —  or,  at  least, 
every  right  that  an  English  poet  possesses,  under  the 
canon  that  the  domain  of  the  artist  is  boundless,  and 
that  the  historic  themes  and  treasures  of  all  ages  and 
places  are  at  his  disposal.  America  has  no  tradi 
tional  period,  except  her  memories  of  the  mother 
land.  She  has  as  much  right  to  British  history,  ante 
dating  Queen  Anne's  time,  as  the  modern  British 
poet.  Before  that  epoch,  her  history,  laws,  relations, 
all  were  English,  and  her  books  were  printed  across 
the  sea.  The  story  of  Mary  Stuart,  for  instance,  is 
as  proper  a  theme  for  an  American  as  for  the  author 
of  Both-well.  Yet  even  our  most  eminent  poets  do 
not  greatly  avail  themselves  of  this  usufruct,  and  the 
minor  songsters,  who  are  many  and  sweet,  sing  to  ex 
press  some  emotion  aroused  by  natural  landscape, 
patriotism,  friendship,  religion,  or  love.  There  is 
much  originality  among  those  whose  note  is  harsh, 
and  much  sweetness  among  those  who  repeat  the 
note  of  others.  And  the  notes  of  what  foreign  bard 
do  they  repeat  with  a  servility  that  merits  the  epithet 
of  "  mocking-birds,"  applied  to  them  by  a  poet  whom 
I  greatly  admire,  and  often  hinted  at  by  others  ? 
There  is  far  less  imitation  of  Tennyson,  Browning, 
and  Swinburne  in  the  minor  poetry  of  America  than 


A    COMPARATIVE  SURVEY. 


291 


in  that  of  Great  Britain ;  the  former  always  has  sweet 
ness,  and  often  strength,  —  and  not  seldom  a  fresh 
ness  and  simplicity  that  are  the  garb  of  fresh  and 
simple  thoughts.  America  has  been  passing  through 
the  two  phases  which  precede  the  higher  forms  of 
art :  the  landscape  period,  and  the  sentimental  or  emo 
tional  •  and  she  is  now  establishing  her  figure-schools 
of  painting  and  song.  A  dramatic  element  is  rapidly 
coming  to  light.  The  truth  is  that  our  minor  poetry, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  is  not  well  known  abroad  ;  a 
matter  of  the  less  importance,  since  this  is  the  coun 
try,  with  its  millions  of  living  readers,  to  which  the 
true  American  bard  must  look  for  the  affectionate 
preservation  of  his  name  and  fame.  After  a  close 
examination  of  the  minor  poets  of  Britain,  during  the 
last  fifteen  years,  I  have  formed,  most  unexpectedly, 
the  belief  that  an  anthology  could  be  culled  from  the 
miscellaneous  poetry  of  the  United  States  equally 
lasting  and  attractive  with  any  selected  from  that  of 
Great  Britain.  I  do  not  think  that  British  poetry  is 
to  decline  with  the  loss  of  Tennyson,  Arnold,  Brown 
ing,  and  the  rest.  There  is  no  cause  for  dejection, 
none  for  discouragement,  as  to  the  imaginative  litera 
ture  of  the  motherland.  The  sterility  in  question  is 
not  symbolical  of  the  over-ripening  of  the  historical 
and  aged  British  nation  •  but  is  rather  the  afternoon 
lethargy  and  fatigue  of  a  glorious  day,  —  the  product 
of  a  critical,  scholarly  period  succeeding  a  period  of 
unusual  splendor,  and  soon  to  be  followed,  as  I  shall 
hereafter  show,  by  a  new  cycle  of  lyrical  and  dramatic 
achievement;  England,  the  mother  of  nations,  renews 
her  youth  from  her  children,  and  hereafter  will  not 
be  unwilling  to  receive  from  us  fresh,  sturdy,  and 
vigorous  returns  for  the  gifts  we  have  for  two  centu- 


The  recent 
aspect,  and 
its  true 
meaning. 


Reflex  in 
fluence  of 
A  merica 
upon  the 
motherland. 


292 


THE  NEW  DAWN. 


Past  and 
future. 


ries  obtained  from  her  hands.  The  catholic  thinker 
derives  from  the  new-born  hope  and  liberty  of  our 
own  country  the  prediction  of  a  jubilant  and  meas 
ureless  art-revival,  in  which  England  and  America 
shall  labor  hand  to  hand.  If  we  have  been  children, 
guided  by  our  elders,  and  taught  to  repeat  lispingly 
their  antiquated  and  timorous  words,  we  boast  that 
we  have  attained  majority  through  fire  and  blood,  and 
even  now  are  learning  to  speak  for  ourselves.  I  be 
lieve  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  the  fine 
and  sensitive  lyrical  feeling  of  America  will  swell  into 
floods  of  creative  song.  The  most  musical  of  Eng 
land's  younger  poets  —  those  on  whom  her  hopes 
depend  —  are  with  us,  and  inscribe  their  works  to 
the  champions  of  freedom  and  equality  in  either 
world.  Thus  our  progress  may  exert  a  reflex  influ 
ence  upon  the  mother-country;  and  to  the  land  from 
which  we  inherit  the  wisdom  of  Shakespeare,  the  rapt 
ure  of  Milton,  and  Wordsworth's  insight  of  natural 
things,  our  own  shall  return  themes  and  forces  that 
may  animate  a  new-risen  choir  of  her  minstrels,  while 
neither  shall  be  forbidden  to  follow  melodiously  where 
the  other  may  be  inspired  to  lead. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


ROBERT    BROWNING. 

IN  a  study  of  Browning,  the  most  original  and  un 
equal  of  living  poets,  three  features  obviously 
present  themselves.  His  dramatic  gift,  so  rare  in 
these  times,  calls  for  recognition  and  analysis;  his 
method  — the  eccentric  quality  of  his  expression - 
constantly  intrudes  upon  the  reader;  lastly,  the  moral 
of  his  verse  warrants  a  closer  examination  than  we 
give  to  the  sentiments  of  a  more  conventional  poet. 
My  own  perception  of  the  spirit  which  his  poetry, 
despite  his  assumption  of  a  purely  dramatic  purpose, 
has  breathed  from  the  outset,  is  one  which  I  shall 
endeavor  to  convey  in  simple  and  direct  terms. 

Various  other  examples  have  served  to  illustrate 
the  phases  of  a  poet's  life,  but  Browning  arouses 
discussion  with  respect  to  the  elements  of  poetry  as 
an  art  Hitherto  I  have  given  some  account  of  an 
author's  career  and  writings  before  proffering  a  crit 
ical  estimate  of  the  latter.  But  this  man's  genius  is 
so  peculiar,  and  he  has  been  so  isolated  in  style  and 
purpose,  that  I  know  not  how  to  speak  of  his  works 
without  first  seeking  a  key  to  their  interpretation,  and 
hence  must  partially  reverse  the  order  hitherto  pur 
sued. 


Robert 
Browning : 

•orn  in 

^amberiuc 
near  Lon 
don,  1812. 


294 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


I. 

IT  is  customary  to  call  Browning  a  dramatist,  and 
without  doubt  he  represents  the  dramatic  element, 
such  as  it  is,  of  the  recent  English  school.  He  counts 
among  his  admirers  many  intellectual  persons,  some 
of  whom  pronounce  him  the  greatest  dramatic  poet 
since  Shakespeare,  and  one  has  said  that  "  it  is  to 
him  we  must  pay  homage  for  whatever  is  good,  and 
great,  and  profound,  in  the  second  period  of  the 
Poetic  Drama  of  England." 

This  may  be  true  ;  nevertheless,  it  also  should  be 
declared,  with  certain  modifications,  that  Robert  Brown 
ing,  in  the  original  sense  of  the  term,  is  not  a  dra 
matic  poet  at  all. 

Procter,  in  the  preface  to  a  collection  of  his  own 
songs,  remarks  with  precision  and  truth  :  "  It  is,  in 
fact,  this  power  of  forgetting  himself,  and  of  imagin 
ing  and  fashioning  characters  different  from  his  own, 
which  constitutes  the  dramatic  quality.  A  man  who 
can  set  aside  his  own  idiosyncrasy  is  half  a  drama 
tist."  Although  Browning's  earlier  poems  were  in  the 
form  of  plays,  and  have  a  dramatic  purpose,  they  are 
at  the  opposite  remove,  in  spirit  and  method,  from 
the  models  of  the  true  histrionic  era,  —  the  work  of 
Fletcher,  Webster,  and  Shakespeare.  They  have  the 
sacred  rage  and  fire,  but  the  flame  is  that  of  Brown 
ing,  and  not  of  the  separate  creations  which  he  strives 
to  inform. 

The  early  drama  was  the  mouthpiece  of  a  passion 
ate  and  adventurous  era.  The  stage  bore  to  the 
period  the  relations  of  the  modern  novel  and  news 
paper  to  our  own,  not  only  holding  the  mirror  up  to 
nature,  but  showing  the  "  very  age  and  body  of  the 


HIS  DRAMATIC  GENIUS. 


295 


time."  It  was  a  vital  growth,  sprung  from  the  people, 
and  having  a  reflex  action  upon  their  imagination  and 
conduct.  Even  in  Queen  Anne's  day  the  theatre  was 
the  meeting-place  of  wits,  and,  if  the  plays  were 
meaner,  it  was  because  they  copied  the  manners  of 
an  artificial  world.  But,  in  either  case,  the  play 
wrights  were  in  no  more  hazard  of  representing  their 
own  natures,  in  one  role  after  another,  than  are  the 
leader-writers  in  their  versatile  articles  upon  topics  of 
our  day.  They  invented  a  score  of  characters,  or 
took  them  from  real  life,  grouped  them  with  con 
summate  effect,  placed  them  in  dramatic  situations, 
lightened  tragedy  with  mirth,  mellowed  comedy  with 
pathos,  and  produced  a  healthful  and  objective  dra 
matic  literature.  They  looked  outward,  not  inward  : 
their  imagination  was  the  richer  for  it,  and  of  a 
more  varied  kind. 

The  stage  still  has  its  office,  but  one  more  sub 
sidiary  than  of  old.  Our  own  age  is  no  less  stirring 
than  was  the  true  dramatic  period,  and  is  far  more 
subtile  in  thought.  But  the  poets  fail  to  represent  it 
objectively,  and  the  drama  does  not  act  as  a  safety- 
valve  for  the  escape  of  surplus  passion  and  desire. 
That  office  the  novelists  have  undertaken,  while  the 
press  brings  its  dramas  to  every  fireside.  Yet  the 
form  of  the  play  still  seems  to  a  poet  the  most  com 
prehensive  mould  in  which  to  cast  a  masterpiece.  It 
is  a  combination  of  scenic  and  plastic  art;  it  includes 
monologue,  dialogue,  and  song,  —  action  and  medita 
tion,  —  man  and  woman,  the  lover,  the  soldier,  and 
the  thinker,  —  all  vivified  by  the  imagination,  and 
each  essential  to  the  completeness  of  the  whole. 
Even  to  poets  like  Byron,  who  have  no  perception  of 
natures  differing  from  their  own,  it  has  a  fascination 


TJie  modern 
stage. 


296 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Browning's 
subjectivity. 


as  a  vehicle  of  expression,  and  the  result  is  seen  in 
"Sardanapalus"  and  "Cain."  Hence  the  closet-drama; 
and  although  praiseworthy  efforts,  as  in  "  Virginias  " 
and  "Ion,"  have  been  made  to  revive  the  early  method, 
these  modern  stage-plays  often  are  unpoetical  and 
tame.  Most  of  what  is  excellent  in  our  dramatic 
verse  is  to  be  found  in  plays  that  could  not  be  suc 
cessfully  enacted. 

While  Browning's  earlier  poems  are  in  the  dramatic 
form,  his  own  personality  is  manifest  in  the  speech 
and  movement  of  almost  every  character  of  each 
piece.  His  spirit  is  infused,  as  if  by  metempsychosis, 
within  them  all,  and  forces  each  to  assume  a  strange 
Pentecostal  tone,  which  we  discover  to  be  that  of  the 
poet  himself.  Bass,  treble,  or  recitative, — whether  in 
pleading,  invective,  or  banter,  —  the  voice  still  is 
there.  But  while  his  characters  have  a  common 
manner  and  diction,  we  become  so  wonted  to  the 
latter  that  it  seems  like  a  new  dialect  which  we  have 
mastered  for  the  sake  of  its  literature.  This  feeling 
is  acquired  after  some  acquaintance  with  his  poems, 
and  not  upon  a  first  or  casual  reading  of  them. 

The  brief,  separate  pieces,  which  he  terms  "  dra 
matic  lyrics,"  are  just  as  properly  dramas  as  are 
many  of  his  five-act  plays.  Several  of  the  latter  were 
intended  for  stage-production.  In  these  we  feel  that 
the  author's  special  genius  is  hampered,  so  that  the 
student  of  Browning  deems  them  less  rich  and  rare 
than  his  strictly  characteristic  essays.  Even  in  the 
most  conventional,  this  poet  cannot  refrain  from  the 
long  monologues,  stilted  action,  and  metaphysical  dis- 
cursion,  which  mark  the  closet-drama  and  unfit  a 
composition  for  the  stage.  His  chief  success  is  in 
the  portrayal  of  single  characters  and  specific  moods. 


THE  POET  OF  PSYCHOLOGY. 


297 


I  would  not  be  understood  to  praise  his  originality 
at  the  expense  of  his  greatness.  His  mission  has 
been  that  of  exploring  those  secret  regions  which 
generate  the  forces  whose  outward  phenomena  it  is 
for  the  playwrights  to  illustrate.  He  has  opened  a 
new  field  for  the  display  of  emotional  power, — found 
ing,  so  to  speak,  a  sub-dramatic  school  of  poetry, 
whose  office  is  to  follow  the  workings  of  the  mind, 
to  discover  the  impalpable  elements  of  which  human 
motives  and  passions  are  composed.  The  greatest 
forces  are  the  most  elusive,  the  unseen  mightier  than 
the  seen ;  modern  genius  chooses  to  seek  for  the 
under-currents  of  the  soul  rather  than  to  depict  acts 
and  situations.  Browning,  as  the  poet  of  psychology, 
escapes  to  that  stronghold  whither,  as  I  have  said, 
science  and  materialism  are  not  yet  prepared  to  follow 
him.  How  shall  the  chemist  read  the  soul  ?  No 
former  poet  has  so  relied  upon  this  province  for  the 
excursions  of  his  muse.  True,  he  explores  by  night, 
stumbles,  halts,  has  vague  ideas  of  the  topography, 
and  often  goes  back  upon  his  course.  But,  though 
others  complete  the  unfinished  work  of  Columbus,  it 
is  to  him  that  we  award  the  glory  of  discovery, — 
not  to  the  engineers  and  colonists  that  succeed  him, 
however  firmly  they  plant  themselves  and  correctly 
map  out  the  now  undisputed  land. 


II. 

BROWNING'S  manner  is  so  eccentric  as  to  challenge 
attention  and  greatly  affect  our  estimate  of  him  as  a 
poet.  Eccentricity  is  not  a  proof  of  genius,  and  even 
an  artist  should  remember  that  originality  consists  not 
only  in  doing  things  differently,  but  also  in  "  doing 
13* 


298 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


things  better."  The  genius  of  Shakespeare  and  Mo- 
liere  enlarged  and  beautified  their  style  •  it  did  not 
distort  it.  Again,  the  grammarian's  statement  is  true, 
that  Poetry  is  a  means  of  Expression.  A  poet  may 
differ  from  other  men  in  having  profounder  emotions 
and  clearer  perceptions,  but  this  is  not  for  him  to 
assume,  nor  a  claim  which  they  are  swift  to  grant. 
The  lines, 

"O  many  are  the  poets  that  are  sown 
By  Nature !   men  endowed  with  highest  gifts, 
The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine ; 
Yet  wanting  the  accomplishment  of  verse," 

imply  that  the  recognized  poet  is  one  who  gives  voice, 
in  expressive  language,  to  the  common  thought  and 
feeling  which  lie  deeper  than  ordinary  speech.  He 
is  the  interpreter :  moreover,  he  is  the  maker,  —  an 
artist  of  the  beautiful,  the  inventor  of  harmonious 
numbers  which  shall  be  a  lure  and  a  repose. 

A  poet,  however  emotional  or  rich  in  thought,  must 
not  fail  to  express  his  conception  and  make  his  work 
attractive.  Over-possession  is  worth  less  than  a  more 
commonplace  faculty ;  he  that  has  the  former  is  a 
sorrow  to  himself  and  a  vexation  to  his  hearers, 
while  one  whose  speech  is  equal  to  his  needs,  and 
who  knows  his  limitations,  adds  something  to  the 
treasury  of  song,  and  is  able  to  shine  in  his  place, 
"and  be  content."  Certain  effects  are  suggested  by 
nature  ;  the  poet  discovers  new  combinations  within 
the  ground  which  these  afford.  Ruskin  has  shown 
that  in  the  course  of  years,  though  long  at  fault,  the 
masses  come  to  appreciate  any  admirable  work.  By 
inversion,  if,  after  a  long  time  has  passed,  the  world 
still  is  repelled  by  a  singer,  and  finds  neither  rest 
nor  music  in  him,  the  fault  is  not  with  the  world  ; 


POETRY  AND  PROSE  DISTINGUISHED. 


299 


there  is  something  deficient  in  his  genius,  —  he  is  so 
much  the  less  a  poet. 

The  distinction  between  poetry  and  prose  must  be 
sharply  observed.  Poetry  is  an  art,  —  a  specific  fact, 
which,  owing  to  the  vagueness  fostered  by  minor  wits, 
we  do  not  sufficiently  insist  upon.  We  hear  it  said 
that  an  eloquent  prose  passage  is  poetry,  that  a  sun 
set  is  a  poem,  and  so  on.  This  is  well  enough  for 
rhetorical  effect,  yet  wholly  untrue,  and  no  poet  should 
permit  himself  to  talk  in  that  way.  Poetry  is  poetry, 
because  it  differs  from  prose ;  it  is  artificial,  and  gives 
us  pleasure  because  we  know  it  to  be  so.  It  is 
beautiful  thought  expressed  in  rhythmical  form,  not 
half  expressed  or  uttered  in  the  form  of  prose.  It  is 
a  metrical  structure;  a  spirit  not  disembodied,  but  in 
the  flesh,  —  so  as  to  affect  the  senses  of  living  men. 
Such  is  the  poetry  of  Earth ;  what  that  of  a  more 
spiritual  region  may  be  I  know  not.  Milton  and 
Keats  never  were  in  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of 
their  art.  It  is  true  that  fine  prose  is  a  higher  form 
of  expression  than  wretched  verse  ;  but  when  a  dis 
tinguished  young  English  poet  thus  writes  to  me,  — 

"  My  own  impression  is  that  Verse  is  an  inferior,  or  infant, 

form  of  speech,  which  will  ultimately  perish  altogether 

The  Seer,  the  Vates,  the  teacher  of  a  new  truth,  is  single, 
while  what  you  call  artists  are  legion," 

—  when  I  read  these  words,  I  remember  that  the  few 
great  seers  have  furnished  models  for  the  simplest 
and  greatest  forms  of  art  ;  I  feel  that  this  poet 
is  growing  heretical  with  respect,  not  to  the  law  of 
custom,  but  to  a  law  which  is  above  us  all  ;  I  fear 
to  discover  a  want  of  beauty,  a  vague  transcenden 
talism,  rather  than  a  clear  inspiration,  in  his  verse,  — 


Poetry. 
Misuse  of 
the  term. 


Letterfrom 
a  rising 
English 
poet. 


Dangers  of 
transcen 
dentalism. 


300 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Impression 
produced  by 
Browning's 
work. 


to  see  him  become  prosaic  and  substitute  rhetoric  for 
passion,  realism  for  naturalness,  affectation  for  lofty 
thought,  and,  "having  been  praised  for  bluntness,"  to 
"affect  a  saucy  roughness."  In  short,  he  is  on  the 
edge  of  danger.  Yet  his  remark  denotes  a  just  im 
patience  of  forms  so  hackneyed  that,  once  beautiful, 
they  now  are  stale  and  corrupt.  It  may  be  neces 
sary,  with  the  Pre-Raphaelites,  to  escape  their  thral 
dom  and  begin  anew.  But  the  poet  is  a  creator,  not 
an  iconoclast  and  never  will  tamely  endeavor  to  say 
in  prose  what  can  only  be  expressed  in  song.  And 
I  have  faith  that  my  friend's  wings  will  unfold,  in 
spite  of  himself,  and  lift  him  bravely  as  ever  on  their 
accustomed  flights. 

Has  the  lapse  of  years  made  Browning  any  more 
attractive  to  the  masses,  or  even  to  the  judicious  few  ? 
He  is  said  to  have  "succeeded  by  a  series  of  fail 
ures,"  and  so  he  has,  as  far  as  notoriety  means  suc 
cess,  and  despite  the  recent  increase  of  his  faults. 
But  what  is  the  fact  which  strikes  the  admiring  and 
sympathetic  student  of  his  poetry  and  career  ?  Dis 
trusting  my  own  judgment,  I  asked  a  clear  and  im 
partial  thinker,  —  "  How  does  Browning's  work  impress 
you  ? "  His  reply,  after  a  moment's  consideration, 
was :  "  Now  that  I  try  to  formulate  the  sensation 
which  it  always  has  given  me,  his  work  seems  that 
of  a  grand  intellect  painfully  striving  for  adequate 
use  and  expression,  and  never  quite  attaining  either." 
This  was,  and  is,  precisely  my  own  feeling.  The 
question  arises,  What  is  at  fault?  Browning's  genius, 
his  chosen  mode  of  expression,  his  period,  or  one 
and  all  of  these  ?  After  the  flush  of  youth  is  over,  a 
poet  must  have  a  wise  method,  if  he  would  move 
ahead.  He  must  improve  upon  instinct  by  experience 


THOUGHT  AND  EXPRESSION. 


301 


and  common-sense.  There  is  something  amiss  in  one 
who  has  to  grope  for  his  theme  and  cannot  adjust 
himself  to  his  period  ;  especially  in  one  who  cannot 
agreeably  handle  such  themes  as  he  arrives  at.  More 
than  this,  however,  is  the  difficulty  in  Browning's  case. 
Expxessiorijis_.the_ _flowfiO>£ J&pught ;  a  fijie_jm agina 
tion  is  wont  to  be  rhythmical  and  creative,  and  many 
passages,  scattered  throughout  Browning's  works,  show 
that  his  is  no  exception.  It  is  a  certain  caprice  or 
perverseness  of  method,  that,  by  long  practice,  has 
injured  his  gift  of  expression ;  while  an  abnormal 
power  of  ratiocination,  and  a  prosaic  regard  for  de 
tails,  have  handicapped  him  from  the  beginning.  Be 
sides,  in  mental  arrogance  and  scorn  of  authority,  he 
has  insulted  Beauty  herself,  and  furnished  too  much 
excuse  for  small  offenders.  What  may  be  condoned 
in  one  of  his  breed  is  intolerable  when  mimicked  by 
every  jackanapes  and  self-appointed  reformer. 

A  group  of  evils,  then,  has  interfered  with  the 
greatness  of  his  poetry.  His  style  is  that  of  a  man 
caught  in  a  morass -of  ideas  through  which  he  has  to 
travel, — wearily  floundering,  grasping  here  and  there, 
and  often  sinking  deeper  until  there  seems  no  prospect 
of  getting  through.  His  latest  works  have  been  more 
involved  and  excursive,  less  beautiful  and  elevating, 
than  most  of  those  which  preceded  them.  Possibly 
his  theory  is  that  which  was  his  wife's  instinct,  —  a 
man  being  more  apt  than  a  woman  with  some  reason 
for  what  he  does,  —  that  poetry  is  valuable  only  for 
the  statement  which  it  makes,  and  must  always  be 
subordinate  thereto.  Nevertheless,  Emerson,  in  this 
country,  seems  to  have  followed  a  kindred  method  ; 
and  who  of  our  poets  is  greater,  or  so  wise? 


Defective 
and  capri 
cious  ex 
pression. 


His  recent 
productions. 


302 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Fine  natu 
ral  gifts. 


III. 

BROWNING'S  early  lyrics,  and  occasional  passages  of 
recent  date,  show  that  he  has  melodious  intervals, 
and  can  be  very  artistic  with  no  loss  of  original 
power.  Often  the  ring  of  his  verse  is  sonorous,  and 
overcomes  the  jagged  consonantal  diction  with  stir 
ring  lyrical  effect.  The  "  Cavalier  Tunes "  are  ex 
amples.  Such  choruses  as 

"Marching  along,  fifty-score  strong, 
Great-hearted  gentlemen,  singing  this  song  !  " 

"  King  Charles,  and  who  '11  do  him  right  now  ? 
King  Charles,  and  who  's  ripe  for  fight  now  ? 
Give  a  rouse  :  here  's,  in  Hell's  despite  now, 
King  Charles ! " 

—  these,  with,  "  Boot,  saddle,  to  horse,  and  away  !  " 
show  that  Browning  can  put  in  verse  the  spirit  of  a 
historic  period,  and  has,  or  had,  in  him  the  making 
of  a  lyric  poet  How  fresh  and  wholesome  this  work  ! 
Finer  still  that  superb  stirrup-piece,  best  of  its  class 
in  the  language,  "  How  they  brought  the  good  news 
from  Ghent  to  Aix."  "  Ratisbon "  and  "The  Lost 
Leader,"  no  less,  are  poems  that  fasten  themselves 
upon  literature,  and  will  not  be  forgotten.  The  old 
fire  flashes  out,  thirty  years  after,  in  "Herve  Kiel," 
another  vigorous  production,  —  unevenly  sustained,  but 
on  a  level  with  Longfellow's  legendary  ballads  and 
sagas.  From  among  lighter  pieces  I  will  select  for 
present  mention  two,  very  unlike  each  other ;  one,  as 
delightful  a  child's  poem  as  ever  was  written,  in  fancy 
and  airy  extravagance,  and  having  a  wildness  and 
pathos  all  its  own,  —  the  daintiest  bit  of  folk-lore  in 
English  verse,  —  to  what  should  I  refer  but  "  The 
Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin?"  The  author  made  a  strong 


HIS  GENERAL  STYLE. 


303 


bid  for  the  love  of  children,  when  he  placed  "  By 
Robert  Browning"  at  its  head,  in  the  collection  of 
his  poems.  The  other, 

"Beautiful  Evelyn  Hope  is  dead! 

Sit  and  watch  by  her  side  an  hour," 

appeals,  like  Wordsworth's  "  She  dwelt  among  the 
untrodden  ways,"  and  Lander's  "  Rose  Aylmer,"  to 
the  hearts  of  learned  and  unlettered,  one  and  all. 

Browning's  style  is  the  more  aggressive,  because,  in 
compelling  beauty  itself  to  suffer  a  change  and  con 
form  to  all  exigencies,  it  presents  such  a  contrast  to 
the  refined  art  of  our  day.  I  have  shown  that  much 
of  this  is  due  to  natural  awkwardness,  —  but  that  the 
author  is  able,  on  fortunate  occasions,  to  better  his 
work,  has  just  been  amply  illustrated.  More  often 
he  either  has  let  his  verse  have  its  way,  or  has  shaped 
a  theory  of  art  by  his  own  restrictions,  and  with  that 
contempt  for  the  structure  of  his  song  which  Plato 
and  St.  Paul  entertained  for  their  fleshly  bodies.  If 
the  mischief  ceased  here,  it  would  not  be  so  bad, 
but  his  genius  has  won  pupils  who  copy  his  vices 
without  his  strength.  He  and  his  wife  injured  each 
the  other's  style  as  much  as  they  sustained  their 
common  aspiration  and  love  of  poesy.  To  be  sure, 
there  was  a  strange  similarity,  by  nature,  between 
their  modes  of  speech  ;  and  what  I  have  said  of  the 
woman's  obscurity,  affectations,  elisions,  will  apply  to 
the  man's  —  with  his  fthes  and  o'/fies,  his  dashes, 
breaks,  halting  measures,  and  oracular  exclamations 
that  convey  no  dramatic  meaning  to  the  reader.  Her 
verse  is  the  more  spasmodic ;  his,  the  more  meta 
physical,  and,  while  effective  in  the  best  of  his  dramatic 
lyrics,  is  constantly  running  into  impertinences  worse 


Evils  of  his 

general 

style. 


The  two 
Brownings. 


304 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Disregard 
of  the  fitness 
of  things. 


Irreverence. 


Crude  recil- 


than  those  of  his  poorest  imitators,  and  which  would 
not  be  tolerated  for  a  moment  in  a  lesser  poet. 
Parodies  on  his  style,  thrown  off  as  burlesques,  are  more 
intelligible  than  much  of  his  "  Dramatis  Personae." 
Unlike  Tennyson,  he  does  not  comprehend  the  limits 
of  a  theme  ;  nor  has  he  an  idea  of  the  relative  im 
portance  either  of  themes  or  details  ;  his  mind  is  so 
alert  that  its  minutest  turn  of  thought  must  be  ut 
tered  ;  he  dwells  with  equal  precision  upon  the  meanest 
and  grandest  objects,  and  laboriously  jots  down  every 
point  that  occurs  to  him,  —  parenthesis  within  paren 
thesis,  —  until  we  have  a  tangle  as  intricate  as  the 
line  drawn  by  an  anemometer  upon  the  recording- 
sheet.  The  poem  is  all  zigzag,  criss-cross,  at  odds 
and  ends,  —  and,  though  we  come  out  right  at  last, 
strength  and  patience  are  exhausted  in  mastering  it. 
Apply  the  rule  that  nothing  should  be  told  in  verse 
which  can  be  told  in  prose,  and  half  his  measures 
would  be  condemned;  since  their  chief  metrical  pur 
pose  is,  through  the  stress  of  rhythm,  to  fix  our  at 
tention,,  by  a  certain  unpleasant  fascination,  upon  a 
process  of  reasoning  from  which  it  otherwise  would 
break  away. 

For  so  much  of  Browning's  crudeness  as  comes  from 
inability  to  express  himself,  or  to  find  a  proper  theme, 
he  may  readily  be  forgiven;  but  whatever  is  due  to 
real  or  assumed  irreverence  for  the  divine  art,  among 
whose  votaries  he  stands  enrolled,  is  a  grievous  wrong, 
unworthy  of  the  humble  and  delightful  spirit  of  a  true 
craftsman.  He  forgets  that  art  is  the  bride  of  the 
imagination,  from  whose  embraces  true  creative  work 
must  spring.  Lastly,  concerning  realism,  while  poets 
are,  as  Mrs.  Browning  said,  "your  only  truth-tellers," 
it  is  not  well  that  repulsive  or  petty  facts  should 


PARACELSUS? 


305 


always  be  recorded  ;  only  the  high,  essential  truths 
demand  a  poet's  illumination.  The  obscurity  wherein 
Browning  disguises  his  realism  is  but  the  semblance 
of  imagination, — a  mist  through  which  rugged  details 
jut  out,  while  the  central  truth  is  feebly  to  be  seen. 


IV. 

AFTER  a  period  of  study  at  the  London  University 
young  Browning,  in  1832,  went  to  Italy,  and  acquired 
a  remarkable  knowledge  of  the  Italian  life  and  lan 
guage.  He  mingled  with  all  classes  of  the  people, 
mastered  details,  and  rummaged  among  the  monas 
teries  of  Lombardy  and  Venice,  studying  mediaeval 
history,  and  filling  his  mind  with  the  relics  of  a  by 
gone  time.  All  this  had  much  to  do  with  the  bent 
of  his  subsequent  work,  and  possibly  was  of  more 
benefit  to  his  learning  than  to  his  ideality. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  he  published  his  first 
drama,  Paracelsus;  a  most  unique  production, — strictly 
speaking,  a  metaphysical  dialogue,  as  noticeable  for 
analytic  power  as  the  romances  of  Keats  for  pure 
beauty.  It  did  not  find  many  readers,  but  no  man 
of  letters  could  peruse  it  without  seeing  that  a  genu 
ine  poet  had  come  to  light.  From  that  time  the 
author  moved  in  the  literary  society  of  London,  and 
was  recognized  as  one  who  had  done  something  and 
might  do  something  more.  The  play  is  "  Faust," 
with  the  action  and  passion,  and  much  of  the  poetry 
and  music, — upon  which  the  fascination  of  the  German 
work  depends, —  omitted;  the  hero  resembles  "Faust" 
in  the  double  aspiration  to  know  and  to  enjoy,  to 
search  out  mystical  knowledge,  yet  drink  at  all  the 
fountains  of  pleasure,  —  lest,  after  a  long  struggle, 


306 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


failing  of  knowledge,  he  should  have  lived  in  vain. 
It  must  be  understood  that  Mr.  Browning's  Paracel 
sus  was  his  own  creation  :  a  man  of  heroic  longings, 
observed  at  various  intervals,  from  his  twentieth  year, 
in  which  he  leaves  his  native  hamlet,  until  he  dies 
at  the  age  of  forty-eight,  —  obscure,  and  with  his 
ideal  seemingly  unattained  ;  not  the  juggler,  empiric, 
and  charlatan  of  history,  whose  record  the  poet 
frankly  gives  us  in  a  foot-note. 

This  poem  has  every  characteristic  of  Browning's 
genius.  The  verse  is  as  strong  and  as  weak  as  the 
best  and  worst  he  has  composed  during  thirty  years, 
and  is  pitched  in  a  key  now  familiar  to  us  all. 
"  Paracelsus,"  the  fruit  of  his  youth,  serves  as  well 
for  a  study  of  this  poet  as  any  later  effort,  and, 
though  inferior  to  "  Pippa  Passes "  and  "  In  a  Bal 
cony,"  is  much  better  than  his  newest  romance  in 
blank  verse.  I  cannot  agree  with  critics  who  say 
that  he  did  his  poorest  work  first  and  has  been  mov 
ing  along  an  ascending  scale  ;  on  the  contrary,  his 
faults  and  beauties  have  been  somewhat  evenly  dis 
tributed  throughout  his  career.  We  are  vexed  in 
"  Paracelsus  "  by  a  vice  that  haunts  him  still,  —  that 
tedious  garrulity  which,  however  relieved  by  beautiful 
passages,  palls  on  the  reader  and  weakens  the  gen 
eral  effect.  As  an  offset,  he  displays  in  this  poem, 
with  respect  to  every  kind  of  poetic  faculty  except 
the  sense  of  proportion,  gifts  equal  to  those  of  any 
compeer.  By  turns  he  is  surpassingly  fine.  We  have 
strong  dramatic  diction  :  — 


"Festus,  strange  secrets  are  let  out  by  Death, 
Who  blabs  so  oft  the  follies  of  this  world  : 
And  I  am  Death's  familiar,  as  you  know. 


PARACELSUS: 


307 


I  helped  a  man  to  die,  some  few  weeks  since ; 

.     .     .     .     No  mean  trick 
He  left  untried  ;    and  truly  wellnigh  wormed 
All  traces  of  God's  finger  out  of  him. 
Then  died,  grown  old;  and  just  an  hour  before  — 
Having  lain  long  with  blank  and  soulless  eyes  — 
He  sate  up  suddenly,  and  with  natural  voice 
Said,  that  in  spite  of  thick  air  and  closed  doors 
God  told  him  it  was  June  ;   and  he  knew  well, 
Without  such  telling,  harebells  grew  in  June  j 
And  all  that  kings  could  ever  give  or  take 
Would  not  be  precious  as  those  blooms  to  him." 

The  conception  is  old  as  Shakespeare,  but  the 
manner  is  large  and  effective.  Few  authors  vary  the 
breaks  and  pauses  of  their  blank  verse  so  naturally 
as  Browning,  and  none  can  so  well  dare  to  extend 
the  proper  limits  of  a  poem.  Here,  as  in  later  plays, 
he  shows  a  more  realistic  perception  of  scenery  and 
nature  than  is  common  with  dramatic  poets.  We  have 
a  bit  of  painting  at  the  outset,  in  the  passage  begin 
ning, 

"Nay,  Autumn  wins  you  best  by  this  its  mute 
Appeal  to  sympathy  for  its  decay ! " 

and  others,  equally  fine  and  true,  are  scattered  through 
out  the  dialogue. 

"Paracelsus"  is  meant  to  illustrate  the  growth  and 
progress  of  a  lofty  spirit,  groping  in  the  darkness  of 
his  time.  He  first  aspires  to  knowledge,  and  fails  ; 
then  to  pleasure  and  knowledge,  and  equally  fails 
—  to  human  eyes.  The  secret  ever  seems  close  at 
hand  :  — 

"  Ah,  the  curse,  Aprile,  Aprile ! 
We  get  so  near  —  so  very,  very  near ! 
'T  is  an  old  tale  :   Jove  strikes  the  -Titans  down 
Not  when  they  set  about  their  mountain-piling, 
But  when  another  rock  would  crown  their  work!" 


308 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"Staf 
ford"  1837. 


Now,  it  is  a  part  of  Browning's  life-long  habit,  that 
he  here  refuses  to  judge  by  ordinary  standards,  and 
makes  the  hero's  attainment  lie  even  in  his  failure 
and  death.  There  are  few  more  daring  assertions  of 
the  soul's  absolute  freedom  than  the  words  of  Festus, 
impressed  by  the  nobility  of  his  dying  friend  :  — 

"  I  am  for  noble  Aureole,  God ! 
I  am  upon  his  side,  come  weal  or  woe ! 
His  portion  shall  be  mine !    He  has  done  well ! 
I  would  have  sinned,  had  I  been  strong  enough, 
As  he  has  sinned !    Reward  him,  or  I  waive 
Reward !    If  thou  canst  find  no  place  for  him 
He  shall  be  king  elsewhere,  and  I  will  be 
His  slave  forever !    There  are  two  of  us ! " 

The  drama  is  well  worth  preserving,  and  even  now 
a  curious  and  highly  suggestive  study.  Its  lyrical 
interludes  seem  out  of  place.  As  an  author's  first 
essay,  it  promised  more  for  his  future  than  if  it  had 
been  a  finished  production,  and  in  any  other  case 
but  that  of  the  capricious,  tongue-tied  Browning,  the 
promise  might  have  been  abundantly  fulfilled. 

In  "Strafford,"  his  second  drama,  the  interest  also 
centres  upon  the  struggles  and  motives  of  one  heroic 
personage,  this  time  entangled  in  a  fatal  mesh  of 
great  events.  Apparently  the  poet,  after  some  ex 
perience  of  authorship,  wished  to  commend  his  work 
to  popular  sympathy,  and  tried  to  write  a  play  that 
should  be  fitted  for  the  stage ;  hence  a  tragedy,  dedi 
cated  to  Macready,  of  which  the  chief  character, —  the 
hapless  Earl  of  Strafford,  —  was  assumed  by  that 
tragedian,  but  with  no  marked  success.  The  action, 
in  compliance  with  history,  moves  with  sufficient  ra 
pidity,  yet  in  a  confused  and  turbulent  way.  The 
characters  are  eccentrically  drawn,  and  are  more 


STRAFFORD*  AND  <  SORDELLO: 


309 


serious  and  mystical  than  even  the  gloom  of  their 
period  would  demand.  It  is  hard  to  perceive  the 
motives  of  Lady  Carlisle  and  the  Queen ;  there  is  no 
underplot  of  love  in  the  play,  to  develop  the  womanly 
element,  nor  has  it  the  humor  of  the  great  play 
wrights,  —  so  essential  to  dramatic  contrast,  and  for 
which  the  Puritans  and  the  London  populace  might 
afford  rich  material.  Imagine  Macready  stalking  por 
tentously  through  the  piece,  the  audience  trying  to 
follow  the  story,  and  bored  beyond  endurance  by  the 
solemn  speeches  of  Pym  and  Strafford,  which  answer 
for  a  death-scene  at  the  close.  The  language  is 
more  natural  than  is  usual  with  Browning,  but  here, 
where  he  is  least  eccentric,  he  becomes  tame  —  until 
we  see  that  he  is  out  of  his  element,  and  prefer  his 
striking  psychology  to  a  forced  attempt  at  writing  of 
the  academic  kind. 

Something  of  this  must  have  struck  the  poet  him 
self,  for,  as  if  chagrined  at  his  failure,  he  swung  back 
to  the  other  extreme,  and  beyond  his  early  starting- 
place  :  farther,  happily,  than  any  point  he  since  has 
ventured  to  reach.  In  no  one  of  his  recent  works 
has  he  been  quite  so  "hard,"  loquacious,  and  im 
practicable  as  in  the  renowned  nondescript  entitled 
Sordello.  Twenty-three  years  after  its  appearance  he 
owned  that  its  "faults  of  expression  were  many,"  and 
added,  "but  with  care  for  a  man  or  book  such  would 
be  surmounted."  The  acknowledgment  was  partial;. 
"  Sordello  "  is  a  fault  throughout,  in  conception  and 
execution :  nothing  is  "  expressed,"  not  even  the  "  in 
cidents  in  the  development  of  a  soul,"  though  such 
incidents  may  have  had  some  nebulous  origin  in  the 
poet's  mind.  It  is  asking  too  much  of  our  care  for 
a  book  or  a  man  that  we  should  surmount  this  chaotic 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"  Bells  and 
Pomegran 
ates )  ' '  1 840  - 
46. 

"  Luria." 


mass  of  word-building.  Carlyle's  "  Sartor  Resartus  " 
is  a  hard  study,  but,  once  entered  upon,  how  po 
etical  !  what  lofty  episodes !  what  wisdom,  beauty, 
and  scorn !  Few  such  treasures  await  him  that  would 
read  the  eleven  thousand  verses  into  which  the  fatal 
facility  of  the  rhymed-heroic  measure  has  led  the 
muse  of  Browning.  The  structure,  by  its  very  ugli 
ness  and  bulk,  like  some  half-buried  colossus  in  the 
desert,  may  survive  a  lapse  of  time.  I  cannot  per 
suade  myself  to  solicit  credit  for  deeper  insight  by 
differing  from  the  common  judgment  with  regard  to 
this  unattractive  prodigy. 

It  had  its  uses,  seemingly,  in  acting  as  a  purge  to 
cleanse  the  visual  humors  of  the  poet's  eyes  and  to 
leave  his  general  system  in  an  auspicious  condition. 
His  next  six  years  were  devoted  to  the  composition 
of  a  picturesque  group  of  dramas,  —  the  exact  order 
of  which  escapes  me,  but  which  finally  were  collected 
in  Bells  and  Pomegranates,  a  popular  edition,  issued 
in  serial  numbers,  of  this  maturer  work.  "  Luna," 
"  King  Victor  and  King  Charles,"  and  "  The  Return 
of  the  Druses,"  are  stately  pieces,  historical  or  legend 
ary,  cast  in  full  stage-form.  In  Luria  we  again  see 
Browning's  favorite  characterization,  from  a  different 
point  of  view.  This  is  a  large-moulded,  suffering  hero, 
akin,  if  disturbed  in  conscience,  to  Wallenstein,  — 
if  devoted  and  magnanimous,  to  Othello.  Luria,  the 
Moor,  is  like  Othello  in  many  ways :  a  brave  and  skil 
ful  general,  who  serves  Florence  (instead  of  Venice), 
and  declares, 

"I  can  and  have  perhaps  obliged  the  state, 
Nor  paid  a  mere  son's  duty." 

He  is  so  true  and  simple,  that  Domizia  says  of 
him, 


LURIA: 


"How  plainly  is  true  greatness  charactered 
By  such  unconsciousness  as  Luria's  here, 
And  sharing  least  the  secret  of  itself ! " 

Browning  makes  devotion  to  an  ideal  or  trust,  how 
ever  unworthy  of  it,  the  chief  trait  of  this  class  of 
personages.  Strafford  dies  in  behalf  of  ungrateful 
Charles  ;  Luria  is  sacrificed  by  the  Florence  he  has 
saved,  and  destroys  himself  at  the  moment  when  love 
and  honor  are  hastening,  too  late,  to  crown  him. 
Djabal,  false  to  himself,  is  true  to  the  cause  of  the 
Druses,  and  at  last  dies  in  expiation  of  his  fault. 
Valence,  in  "  Colombe's  Birthday,"  shows  devotion  of 
a  double  kind,  but  is  rewarded  for  his  fidelity  and 
honor.  Luitolfo,  in  "A  Soul's  Tragedy,"  is  of  a 
kindred  type.  But  I  am  anticipating.  The  language 
of  "  Luria  "  often  is  in  the  grand  manner.  In  depict 
ing  the  Moorish  general  and  his  friend  Husain, — 
brooding,  generous  children  of  the  sun,  —  the  soldierly 
Tiburzio,  painted  with  a  few  master-strokes,  —  and  in 
the  element  of  Italian  craft  and  intrigue,  the  author 
is  at  home  and  well  served  by  his  knowledge  of 
mediaeval  times.  That  is  an  eloquent  speech  of  Do- 
mizia,  near  the  end  of  the  fourth  act.  Despite  the 
poverty  of  action,  and  the  prolonged  harangues,  this 
drama  is  worthy  of  its  dedication  to  Landor  and  the 
wish  that  it  might  be  "  read  by  his  light " :  almost 
worthy  (Landor  always  weighed  out  gold  for  silver !) 
of  the  old  bard's  munificent  return  of  praise  :  — 

"  Shakespeare  is  not  our  poet  but  the  world's, 
Therefore  on  him  no  speech  !   and  brief  for  thee, 
Browning!     Since  Chaucer  was  alive  and  hale, 
No  man  hath  walked  along  our  roads  with  step 
So  active,  so  inquiring  eye,  or  tongue 
So  varied  in  discourse.     But  warmer  climes 


A  favorite 
characteri 
zation. 


Landor  to 
Browning. 


312 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"  The  Re 
turn  of  the 
Druses." 


Give  brighter  plumage,  stronger  wing  :   the  breeze 
Of  Alpine  heights  thou  playest  with,  borne  on 
Beyond  Sorrento  and  Amalfi,  where 
The  Siren  waits  thee,  singing  song  for  song." 

"The  Return  of  the  Druses,"  with  its  scenic  and 
choric  effects,  is  like  some  of  Byron's  plays :  the 
scene,  an  isle  of  the  Sporades ;  the  legend,  half- 
Venetian,  half-Oriental,  one  that  only  Browning  could 
make  available.  The  girl  Anael  is  an  impassioned 
character,  divided  between  adoration  for  Hakeem,  the 
god  of  her  race,  —  whom  she  believes  incarnate  in 
Djabal,  —  and  her  love  for  Djabal  as  a  man.  The 
tragedy,  amid  a  good  deal  of  trite  and  pedantic  lan 
guage,  is  marked  by  heroic  situations  and  sudden 
dramatic  catastrophes.  Several  brilliant  points  are 
made  :  one,  where  the  Prefect  lifts  the  arras,  on  the 
other  side  of  which  death  awaits  him,  and  says, — 

"This  is  the  first  time  for  long  years  I  enter 
Thus,  without  feeling  just  as  if  I  lifted 
The  lid  up  of  my  tomb !     .     .     .     . 

Let  me  repeat  —  for  the  first  time,  no  draught 
Coming  as  from  a  sepulchre  salutes  me  ! " 

A  moment,  and  the  dagger  is  through  his  heart. 
Another  such  is  the  wonder  and  contempt  of  Anael 
at  finding  Djabal  no  deity,  but  an  impostor ;  while 
perhaps  the  most  telling  point  in  the  whole  series  of 
Browning's  plays  is  her  cry  of  Hakeem !  made  when 
she  comes  to  denounce  Djabal,  but,  moved  by  love, 
proclaims  him  as  the  god,  and  falls  dead  with  the 
effort.  The  poet,  however,  is  justly  censured  for  too 
frequently  taking  off  his  personages  by  the  intensity 
of  their  own  passions,  without  recourse  to  the  dagger 


<  THE  RETURN  OF  THE  D^jJSRS* 


^ 


313 


X  ^ 

and  bowl.     He  rarely  does  it  after  the  "  high  'Ro/nan 
fashion." 

This  tragedy  observes  the  classic  unities  of  tim^ 
and  place.  A  hall  in  the  Prefect's  palace  is  made  to 
cover  its  entire  action,  which  occupies  only  one  day. 
In  its  earnest  pitch  and  lack  of  sprightly  underplot, 
it  also  is  Greek  or  Italian.  Not  long  ago,  listening 
to  Salvini  in  "Samson"  and  other  plays,  I  was  struck 
by  their  likeness,  in  simplicity  of  action  and  costume, 
to  the  antique  dramas.  The  actors  were  sufficient  to 
themselves,  and  the  audience  was  intent  upon  their 
lofty  speech  and  passion  ;  there  was  no  lack  of 
interest,  but  a  refreshing  spiritual  elevation.  The 
Gothic  method  better  suits  the  English  stage,  never 
theless  we  need  not  refuse  to  profit  by  the  experi 
ence  of  other  lands.  Our  poetry,  like  the  language, 
should  draw  its  riches  from  all  tongues  and  races, 
and  well  can  endure  a  larger  infusion  of  the  ancient 
grandeur  and  simplicity.  In  the  play  before  us 
Browning  has  but  renewed  the  debt,  long  since  in 
curred,  of  English  literature  to  the  Italian,  —  greater 
than  that  to  all  other  sources  combined.  Not  with 
out  reason,  in  "  De  Gustibus,"  he  sang,  — 

"Open  my  heart  and  you  will  see, 
Graved  inside  of  it,  '  Italy.' 
Such  lovers  old  are  I  and  she ; 
So  it  always  was,  so  it  still  shall  be !  " 

"King  Victor"  is  one  of  those  conventional  plays 
in  which  he  appears  to  ordinary  advantage.  His 
three  dramatic  masterpieces  are  "  Pippa  Passes,"  "  A 
Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,"  and  "  Colombe's  Birthday." 

The  last-named  play,  inscribed  to  Barry  Cornwall, 
really  is  a  fresh  and  lovely  little  drama.  The  fair 


The  Clatsi- 

cal  and 
Gothic  meth 
ods  in  dra 
matic  art. 


1  King  Vic- 

or  and 
King 
Charles" 


Colombe 's 
Birthday." 


3*4 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"  A  Blot  in 
the  'Scutch- 


young  heroine  has  possessed  her  duchy  for  a  single 
year,  and  now,  upon  her  birthday,  as  she  unsuspect 
ingly  awaits  the  greetings  of  her  courtiers,  is  called 
upon  to  surrender  her  inheritance  to  Prince  Berthold, 
decreed  to  be  the  lawful  heir.  At  the  same  time 
Valence,  a  poor  advocate  of  Cleves,  seeks  audience 
in  behalf  of  his  suffering  townsmen,  and  ends  by 
defending  the  Duchess's  title  to  her  rank.  She  loves 
him,  and  is  so  impressed  by  his  nobility  and  cour 
age  as  to  decline  the  hand  of  the  Prince,  and  sur 
render  her  duchy,  to  become  the  wife  of  Valence, 
with  whom  she  joyfully  retires  to  the  ruined  castle 
where  her  youth  was  spent.  This  play  might  be 
performed  to  the  great  interest  of  an  audience  com 
posed  exclusively  of  intellectual  persons,  who  could 
follow  the  elaborate  dialogue  and  would  be  charmed 
with  its  poetry  and  subtile  thought.  Once  accept  the 
manner  of  Browning,  and  you  must  be  pleased  with 
the  delineation  of  the  characters.  "  Colombe  "  herself 
is  exquisite,  and  like  one  of  Shakespeare's  women. 
Valence  seems  too  harsh  and  dry  to  win  her,  and 
her  choice,  despite  his  loyalty  and  intellect,  is  hardly 
defensible.  Still,  "  Colombe's  Birthday  "  is  the  most 
natural  and  winsome  of  the  author's  stage-plays. 

"A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon"  was  brought  out  at 
Drury  Lane,  in  1843,  and  failed.'-  This  of  course,  for 
there  is  little  in  it  to  relieve  the  human  spirit,  — 
which  cannot  bear  too  much  of  earnestness  and  woe 
added  to  the  mystery  and  burden  of  our  daily  lives. 
Yet  the  piece  has  such  tragic  strength  as  to  stamp 
the  author  as  a  great  poet,  though  in  a  narrow  range. 
One  almost  forgets  the  singular  improbabilities  of  the 
story,  the  blase  talk  of  the  child-lovers  (an  English 
Juliet  of  fourteen  is  against  nature),  the  stiff  language 


'A   BLOT  IN  THE  'SCUTCHEON? 


315 


of  the  retainers,  and  various  other   blemishes.     There 
is    a    serenade    in    which,    unchecked    by    his    fear    o 
detection,  Mertoun    is    made   to   sing  under  Mildred' 
window,  — 

"There  's  a  woman  like  the  dew-drop,  she  's  so  purer  than  th< 
purest !  " 

This  song,  composed  seven  years  before  the  poet': 
meeting  with  Miss  Barrett,  is  precisely  in  the  style  of 
"Lady  Geraldine's  Courtship,"  and  other  ballads  o] 
the  gifted  woman  who  became  his  wife. 

The  most  simple  and  varied  of  his  plays  —  that 
which  shows  every  side  of  his  genius,  has  most  light 
ness  and  strength,  and  all  in  all  may  be  termed  a 
representative  poem  —  is  the  beautiful  drama  with 
the  quaint  title  of  "  Pippa  Passes."  It  is  a  cluster  oi 
four  scenes,  with  prologue,  epilogue,  and  interludes 
half  prose,  half  poetry,  varying  with  the  refinement  of 
the  dialogue.  Pippa  is  a  delicately  pure,  good,  blithe 
some  peasant-maid.  "  'T  is  but  a  little  black-eyed, 
pretty,  singing  Felippa,  gay  silk-winding  girl," — though 
with  token,  ere  the  end,  that  she  is  the  child  of  a 
nobleman,  put  out  of  the  way  by  a  villain,  Maffeo,  at 
instigation  of  the  next  heir.  Pippa  knows  nothing  of 
this,  but  is  piously  content  with  her  life  of  toil.  It 
is  New  Year's  Day  at  Asolo.  She  springs  from  bed, 
in  her  garret  chamber,  at  sunrise,  —  resolved  to  enjoy 
to  the  full  her  sole  holiday  :  she  will  not  "  squander 
a  wavelet"  of  it,  not  a  "mite  of  her  twelve  hours' 
treasure."  Others  can  be  happy  throughout  the  year: 
haughty  Ottima  and  Sebald,  the  lovers  on  the  hill ; 
Jules  and  Phene,  the  artist  and  his  bride ;  Luigi  and 
his  mother ;  Monsignor,  the  Bishop ;  but  Pippa  has 
only  this  one  day  to  enjoy.  She  envies  these  great 


Passes. 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Intense  pas 
sion  and 
beauty. 


ones  a  little,  but  reflects  that  God's  love  is  best,  after 
all.  And  yet,  how  little  can  she  do !  How  can  she 
possibly  affect  the  world  ?  Thus  she  muses,  and  goes 
out,  singing,  to  her  holiday  and  the  sunshine.  Now, 
it  so  happens  that  she  passes,  this  day,  each  of  the 
groups  or  persons  we  have  named,  at  an  important 
crisis  in  their  lives,  and  they  hear  her  various  carols 
as  she  trills  them  forth  in  the  innocent  gladness  of 
her  heart.  Sebald  and  Ottima  have  murdered  the 
latter's  aged  husband,  and  are  unremorseful  in  their 
guilty  love.  Jules  is  the  victim  of  a  fraud  practised 
by  his  rival  artists,  who  have  put  in  his  way  a  young 
girl,  a  paid  model,  whom  he  believes  to  be  a  pure 
and  cultured  maiden.  He  has  married  her,  and  just 
discovered  the  imposture.  Luigi  is  hesitating  whether 
to  join  a  patriotic  conspiracy.  Monsignor  is  tempted 
by  Maffeo  to  overlook  his  late  brother's  murder,  for 
the  sake  of  the  estates,  and  to  utterly  ruin  Pippa. 
The  scene  between  Ottima  and  Sebald  is  the  most 
intense  and  striking  passage  of  all  Browning's  poetry, 
and,  possibly,  of  any  dramatic  verse  composed  during 
his  lifetime  up  to  the  date  of  this  play.  A  passion 
ate  esoteric  theme  is  treated  with  such  vigor  and 
skill  as  to  free  it  from  any  debasing  taint,  in  the 
dialogue  from  which  I  quote  :  — 

"  Ottima The  past,  would  you  give  up  the  past 

Such  as  it  is,  pleasure  and  crime  together? 
Give  up  that  noon  I  owned  my  love  for  you  — 
The  garden's  silence  —  even  the  single  bee, 
Persisting  in  his  toil,  suddenly  stopt, 
And  where  he  hid  you  only  could  surmise 
By  some  campanula's  chalice  set  a-swing 
As  he  clung  there  —  '  Yes,  I  love  you  ! ' 

Sebald.  And  I  drew 

Back ;   put  far  back  your  face  with  both  my  hands 


-PIP PA   PASSES.' 


317 


Lest  you  should  grow  too  full  of  me  —  your  face 
So  seemed  athirst  for  my  whole  soul  and  body  ! 

Ottima.     Then  our  crowning  night  — 

Sebald.  The  July  night? 

Ottima.     The  day  of  it  too,  Sebald ! 
When  the  heaven's  pillars  seemed  o'erbowed  with  heat, 
Its  black-blue  canopy  seemed  let  descend 
Close  on  us  both,  to  weigh  down  each  to  each, 
And  smother  up  all  life  except  our  life. 
So  lay  we  till  the  storm  came. 

Sebald.  How  it  came ! 

Ottima.     Buried  in  woods  we  lay,  you  recollect; 
Swift  ran  the  searching  tempest  overhead ; 
And  ever  and  anon  some  bright  white  shaft 
Burnt  thro'  the  pine-tree  roof,  —  here  burnt  and  there, 
As  if  God's  messenger  thro'  the  close  wood  screen 
Plunged  and  replunged  his  weapon  at  a  venture, 
Feeling  for  guilty  thee  and  me  :   then  broke 
The  thunder  like  a  whole  sea  overhead  — 

Sebald.  Yes ! 

How  did  we  ever  rise  ? 
Was  it  that  we  slept?    Why  did  it  end? 

Ottima.  I  felt  you, 

Fresh  tapering  to  a  point  the  ruffled  ends 
Of  my  loose  locks  'twixt  both  your  humid  lips  — 
(My  hair  is  fallen  now  —  knot  it  again  !  ) 

Sebald.     I  kiss  you  now,  dear  Ottima,  now,  and  now ! 
This  way  ?    Will  you  forgive  me  —  be  once  more 
My  great  queen  ? 

Ottima.  Bind  it  thrice  about  my  brow ; 

Crown  me  your  queen,  your  spirit's  arbitress, 
Magnificent  in  sin.     Say  that ! 

Sebald.  I  crown  you 

My  great  white  queen,  my  spirit's  arbitress, 
Magnificent  —  " 

But  here  Pippa  passes,  singing 

"  God 's  in  his  heaven,  — 
All 's  right  with  the  world  !  " 


See  "  Pippa 
Passes," 
Scene  I. 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Too  intel 
lectual. 


Sebald  is  stricken  with  fear  and  remorse  ;  his  para 
mour  becomes  hideous  in  his  eyes;  he  bids  her  dress 
her  shoulders,  wipe  off  that  paint,  and  leave  him,  for 
he  hates  her !  She,  the  woman,  is  at  least  true  to 
her  lover,  and  prays  God  to  be  merciful,  not  to  her, 
but  to  him. 

The  scene  changes  to  the  post-nuptial  meeting  of 
Jules  and  Phene,  and  then  in  succession  to  the  other 
passages  and  characters  we  have  mentioned.  All 
these  persons  are  vitally  affected,  —  have  their  lives 
changed,  merely  by  Pippa's  weird  and  suggestive 
songs,  coming,  as  if  by  accident,  upon  their  hearing 
at  the  critical  moment.  With  certain  reservations  this 
is  a  strong  and  delicate  conception,  admirably  worked 
out.  The  usual  fault  is  present  :  the  characters, 
whether  students,  peasants,  or  soldiers,  all  talk  like 
sages ;  Pippa  reasons  like  a  Paracelsus  in  panta 
lets,  —  her  intellectual  songs  are  strangely  put  in  the 
mouth  of  an  ignorant  silk-winding  girl  ;  Phene  is 
more  natural,  though  mature,  even  for  Italy,  at  four 
teen.  Browning's  children  are  old  as  himself ;  —  he 
rarely  sees  them  objectively.  Even  in  the  songs  he  is 
awkward,  void  of  lyric  grace  ;  if  they  have  the  wild 
ing  flavor,  they  have  more  than  need  be  of  specks 
and  gnarledness.  In  the  epilogue  Pippa  seeks  her 
garret,  and,  as  she  disrobes,  after  artlessly  running 
over  the  events  of  her  holiday,  soliloquizes  thus  :  — 

"  Now,  one  thing  I  should  like  really  to  know  : 
How  near  I  ever  might  approach  all  these 
I  only  fancied  being,  this  long  day  — 
—  Approach,  I  mean,  so  as  to  touch  them  —  so 
As  to  .  .  in  some  way  .  .  move  them  —  if  you  please, 
Do  good  or  evil  to  them  some  slight  way." 

Finally,  she  sleeps,  —  unconscious   of  her   day's   mis- 


IA  sours  TRAGEDY: 


319 


sion,  —  and  of  the  fact  that  her  own  life  is  to  be 
something  more  than  it  has  been, — but  not  until  she 
has  murmured  these  words  of  a  hymn:  — 

"  All  service  is  the  same  with  God,  — 
With  God,  whose  puppets,  best  and  worst, 
Are  we :   there  is  no  last  nor  first." 

"  Pippa  Passes  "  is  a  work  of  pure  art,  and  has  a 
wealth  of  original  fancy  and  romance,  apart  from  its 
wisdom,  to  which  every  poet  will  do  justice.  Its 
faults  are  those  of  style  and  undue  intellectuality. 
To  quote  the  author's  words,  in  another  drama, 

"  Ah  ?  well !   he  o'er-refines,  —  the  scholar's  fault !  " 

As  it  is,  wre  accept  his  work,  looking  upon  it  as  upon 
some  treasured  yet  bizarre  painting  of  the  mixed 
school,  whose  beauties  are  the  more  striking  for  its 
defects.  The  former  are  inherent,  the  latter  external 
and  subordinate. 

Everything  from  this  poet  is,  or  used  to  be,  of 
value  and  interest,  and  "  A  Soul's  Tragedy "  is  of 
both :  first,  for  a  masterly  distinction  between  the 
action  of  sentiment  and  that  founded  on  principle, 
and,  secondly,  for  wit,  satire,  and  knowledge  of  af 
fairs.  Ogniben,  the  Legate,  is  the  most  thorough 
man  of  the  world  Browning  has  drawn.  That  is  a 
matchless  stroke,  at  the  close,  where  he  says :  "  I 
have  seen  four-and-twenty  leaders  of  revolts."  It  is 
a  consolation  to  recall  this  when  a  pretender  arises  ; 
his  race  is  measured,  —  his  fall  will  surely  come. 

With  "  Luria,"  thirty  years  ago,  Browning,  whose 
stage-plays  had  been  failures,  and  whose  closet-dra 
mas  had  found  too  small  a  reading,  made  his  "last 
attempt,  for  the  present,  at  dramatic  poetry."  It 


A  rare  and 

exquisite 

production. 


"A  SouPs 
Tragedy." 


320 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Dramatic 
nature  of 
Browning's 
lyrics. 


Founder  of 
the  new  life- 
school. 


remains  to  examine  his  miscellaneous  after-work,  in 
cluding  the  long  poems  which  have  appeared  within 
the  last  five  years,  —  the  most  prolific,  if  not  the 
most  creative,  period  of  his  untiring  life. 


V. 

SOMETHING  of  a  dramatic  character  pertains  to 
nearly  all  of  Browning's  lyrics.  Like  his  wife,  he  has 
preferred  to  study  human  hearts  rather  than  the 
forms  of  nature.  A  note  to  the  first  collection  of 
his  briefer  poems  places  them  under  the  head  of 
Dramatic  Pieces.  This  was  at  a  time  when  English 
poets  were  enslaved  to  the  idyllic  method,  and  forgot 
that  their  readers  had  passions  most  suggestive  to  art 
when  exalted  above  the  tranquillity  of  picturesque  re 
pose.  Herein  Browning  justly  may  claim  originality. 
Even  the  Laureate  combined  the  art  of  Keats  with 
the  contemplative  habit  of  Wordsworth,  and  adapted 
them  to  his  own  times ;  while  Browning  was  the 
prophet  of  that  reaction  which  holds  that  the  proper 
study  of  mankind  is  man.  His  effort,  weak  or  able, 
was  at  figure-painting,  in  distinction  from  that  of 
landscape  or  still-life.  It  has  not  flourished  during 
the  recent  period,  but  we  are  indebted  to  him  for 
what  we  have  of  it.  In  an  adverse  time  it  was 
natural  for  it  to  assume  peculiar,  almost  morbid 
phases ;  but  of  this  struggling,  turbid  figure-school,  — 
variously  represented  by  the  younger  Lytton,  Rossetti, 
Swinburne,  and  others,  he  was  the  long-neglected 
progenitor.  His  genius  may  have  been  unequal  to 
his  aims.  It  is  not  easy  for  him  to  combine  a  score 
of  figures  upon  the  ample  canvas  :  his  work  is  at  its 
best  in  separate  ideals,  or,  rather,  in  portraits,  —  his 


DRAMATIC  ROMANCES  AND  LYRICS. 


321 


dramatic  talent  being  more  realistic  than  imaginative. 
Still,  portraiture,  in  a  certain  sense,  is  the  highest 
form  of  painting,  and  Browning's  personal  studies 
must  not  be  undervalued.  As  usual,  even  here  he  is 
unequal,  and,  while  some  of  them  are  matchless,  in 
others,  like  all  men  of  genius  who  aim  at  the  highest, 
he  conspicuously  fails.  A  man  of  talent  may  never 
fail,  yet  never  rise  above  a  fixed  height.  Yet  if 
Browning  were  a  man  of  great  genius  his  failures 
would  not  so  outnumber  his  successes  that  half  his 
lyrics  could  be  missed  without  injury  to  his  repu 
tation. 

The  shorter  pieces,  "Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyr 
ics,"  in  the  first  general  collection  of  his  works,  are 
of  a  better  average  grade  than  those  in  his  latest 
book  of  miscellanies.  One  of  the  best  is  "My  Last 
Duchess,"  a  masterly  sketch,  comprising  within  sixty 
lines  enough  matter  to  furnish  Browning,  nowadays, 
with  an  excuse  for  a  quarto.  Nothing  can  be  subtler 
than  the  art  whereby  the  Duke  is  made  to  reveal  a 
cruel  tragedy  of  which  he  was  the  relentless  villain, 
to  betray  the  blackness  of  his  heart,  and  to  suggest 
a  companion-tragedy  in  his  betrothal  close  at  hand. 
Thus  was  introduced  a  new  method,  applied  with 
such  coolness  as  to  suggest  the  idea  of  vivisection  or 
morbid  anatomy. 

But  let  us  group  other  lyrics  in  this  collection  with 
the  matter  of  two  later  volumes,  Men  and  Women, 
and  Dramatis  Persona.  These  books,  made  up  of 
isolated  poems,  contain  the  bulk  of  his  work  during 
the  eighteen  years  which  followed  his  marriage  in 
1846.  While  their  contents  include  no  long  poem  or 
drama,  they  seem,  upon  the  whole,  to  be  the  fullest 
expression  of  his  genius,  and  that  for  which  he  is 
14*  u 


322 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Inferiority 
of  the  last- 
named  vol- 


"  Men  and 
Women  "  a 
representa 
tive  work. 


"  Andrea 
del  Sarto. ' 


likeliest  to  be  remembered.  Every  poet  has  limita 
tions,  and  in  such  briefer  studies  Browning  keeps 
within  the  narrowest  bounds  allotted  to  him.  Very 
few  of  his  best  pieces  are  in  "  Dramatis  Personae," 
the  greater  part  of  which  book  is  made  up  of  his 
most  ragged,  uncouth,  and  even  puerile  verse ;  and 
it  is  curious  that  it  appeared  at  a  time  when  his  wife 
was  scribbling  the  rhetorical  verse  of  those  years 
which  I  have  designated  as  her  period  of  decline. 
But  observe  the  general  excellence  of  the  fifty  poems 
in  "Men  and  Women," — collected  nine  years  earlier, 
when  the  author  was  forty-three  years  old,  and  at  his 
prime.  In  an  essay  upon  Tennyson  dt  was  stated 
that  almost  every  poet  has  a  representative  book, 
showing  him  at  full  height  and  variety.  "  Men  and 
Women,"  like  the  Laureate's  volume  of  1842,  is  the 
most  finished  and  comprehensive  of  the  author's 
works,  and  the  one  his  readers  least  could  spare. 
Here  we  find  numbers  of  those  thrilling,  skilfully 
dramatic  studies,  which  so  many  have  imitated  with 
out  catching  the  secret  of  their  power. 

The  general  effect  of  Browning's  miscellaneous 
poems  is  like  that  of  a  picture-gallery,  where  cabinet- 
paintings,  by  old  and  modern  masters,  are  placed  at 
random  upon  the  walls.  Some  are  rich  in  color ; 
others,  strong  in  light  and  shade.  A  few  are  elabo 
rately  finished,  —  more  are  careless  drawings,  fresh,  but 
hurriedly  sketched  in.  Often  the  subjects  are  repul 
sive,  but  occasionally  we  have  the  solitary,  impressive 
figure  of  a  lover  or  a  saint. 

The  poet  is  as  familiar  with  mediaeval  thought  and 
story  as  most  authors  with  their  own  time,  and  adapts 
them  to  his  lyrical  uses.  "  Andrea  del  Sarto "  be 
longs  to  the  same  group  with  "  My  Last  Duchess." 


MEN  AND  WOMEN: 


323 


It  is  the  language  of  "  the  faultless  painter,"  ad 
dressed  to  his  beautiful  and  thoughtless  wife,  for 
whom  he  has  lowered  his  ideal  —  and  from  whose 
chains  he  cannot  break,  though  he  knows  she  is  un 
worthy,  and  even  false  to  him.  He  moans  before 
one  of  Rafael's  drawings,  excusing  the  faults,  in  envy 
of  the  genius  :  — 

"  Still,  what  an  arm !  and  I  could  alter  it. 
But  all  the  play,  the  insight  and  the  stretch  — 
Out  of  me  !   out  of  me  !     And  wherefore  out  ? 
Had  you  enjoined  them  on  me,  given  me  soul, 
We  might  have  risen  to  Rafael,  I  and  you. 

But  had  you  —  O,  with  the  same  perfect  brow, 
And  perfect  eyes,  and  more  than  perfect  mouth, 
And  the  low  voice  my  soul  hears,  as  a  bird 
The  fowler's  pipe,  and  follows  to  the  snare,  — 
Had  you,  with  these  the  same,  but  brought  a  mind ! 
Some  women  do  so.     Had  the  mouth  there  urged 
'  God  and  the  glory  !  never  care  for  gain  ! ' 

I  might  have  done  it  for  you." 

Were  it  indeed  "all  for  love,"  then  were  the  "world 
well  lost "  ;  but  even  while  he  dallies  with  his  wife 
she  listens  for  her  gallant's  signal.  This  poem  is 
one  of  Browning's  finest  studies :  of  late  he  has 
given  us  nothing  equal  to  it.  The  picture  of  the 
rollicking  "  Fra  Lippo  Lippi  "  is  broad,  free-handed, 
yet  scarcely  so  well  done.  "  Pictor  Ignotus  "  is  upon 
another  art-theme,  and  in  quiet  beauty  differs  from 
the  poet's  usual  manner.  Other  old-time  studies, 
good  and  poor,  which  served  to  set  the  fashion  for  a 
number  of  minor  poets,  are  such  pieces  as  "  Count 
Gismond,"  "  Cristina,"  "  The  Laboratory,"  and  "  The 
Confessional." 


"Fra  Lippo 
Lippi>"  etc. 


324 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"  Christmas 
Eve ' '  and 
"  Easter 
Day"  1850. 


How  perilous  an  easy  rhymed-metre  is  to  this 
author  was  discernible  in  "Sordello."  After  the  same 
manner  he  is  tempted  to  garrulity  in  the  semi-relig 
ious  poems,  "  Christmas  Eve  "  and  "  Easter  Day."  It 
is  difficult  otherwise  to  account  for  their  dreary  flow, 
since  they  are  no  more  original  in  theology  than 
poetical  in  language  and  design. 

It  would  be  strange  if  Browning  were  not  indebted, 
for  some  of  his  most  powerful  themes,  to  the  super 
stition  from  which  mediaeval  art,  politics,  and  daily 
life  took  their  prevailing  tone.  In  his  analysis  of 
its  quality  he  seems  to  me  extremely  profound.  Mo- 
nasticism  in  Spain  even  now  is  not  so  different  from 
that  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  the  repulsive  im 
agery  of  a  piece  like  the  "  Soliloquy  of  the  Spanish 
Cloister,"  written  in  the  harshest  verse,  well  consorts 
with  a  period  when  the  orders,  that  took  their  origin 
in  exalted  purity,  had  become  degraded  through  lust, 
gluttony,  jealousy,  and  every  cardinal  sin.  Browning 
draws  his  monks,  as  Dore  in  the  illustrations  to  "Les 
Contes  Drolatiques,"  with  porcine  or  wolfish  faces, 
monstrous,  seamed  with  vice,  defiled  in  body  and 
soul.  "The  Bishop  orders  his  Tomb"  has  been  criti 
cised  as  not  being  a  faithful  study  of  the  Romish 
ecclesiastic,  A.  D.  15 — ;  but,  unless  I  misapprehend 
the  spirit  of  that  period,  this  is  one  of  the  poet's 
strongest  portraitures.  Religion  then  was  often  a 
compound  of  fear,  bigotry,  and  greed ;  its  officers, 
trained  in  the  Church,  seemed  to  themselves  invested 
with  something  greater  than  themselves  ;  their  ideas 
of  good  and  evil,  after  years  of  ritualistic  service,  — 
made  gross  with  pelf,  jealousy,  sensualism,  and  even 
blood-guiltiness,  —  became  strangely  intermixed.  The 
poet  overlays  this  groundwork  with  that  love  of  art 


MEDIEVAL  STUDIES. 


325 


and  luxury  —  of  jasper,  peach-blossom  marble,  and 
lazuli  —  inbred  in  every  Italian,  —  and  even  with  the 
scholar's  desire  to  have  his  epitaph  carved  aright :  — 

"Choice  Latin,  picked  phrase,  Tully's  every  word, 
No  gaudy  ware  like  Gandolf's  second  line, — 
Tully,  my  masters?    Ulpian  serves  his  need! 
And  then  how  I  shall  lie  through  centuries, 
And  hear  the  blessed  mutter  of  the  mass, 
And  see  God  made  and  eaten  all  day  long, 
And  feel  the  steady  candle-flame,  and  taste 
Good,  strong,  thick,  stupefying  incense-smoke !  " 

All  this  commanded  to  his  bastards  !  And  for  the 
rest,  were  ever  suspicion,  hatred,  delight  at  outwit 
ting  a  rival  in  love  and  preferment,  and  every  other 
loathsome  passion  strong  in  death,  more  ruthlessly 
and  truthfully  depicted? 

Of  strictly  mediaeval  church  studies,  "The  Heretic's 
Tragedy"  and  "Holy-Cross  Day,"  with  their  grotesque 
diction,  annotations,  and  prefixes,  are  the  most  skil 
ful  reproductions  essayed  in  our  time.  Browning 
alone  could  have  conceived  or  written  them.  In  " A 
Grammarian's  Funeral,"  "  Abt  Vogler,"  and  "  Master 
Hugues,"  early  scholarship  and  music  are  commemo 
rated.  The  language  of  the  simplest  of  these  is  so  in 
tricate  that  we  have  to  be  educated  in  a  new  tongue 
to  comprehend  them.  Their  value  lies  in  the  human 
nature  revealed  under  such  fantastic,  and,  to  us,  un 
natural  aspects  developed  in  other  times. 

"  Artemis  Prologuizes,"  the  poet's  antique  sketch, 
is  as  unclassical  as  one  might  expect  from  its  affected 
title.  "Saul,"  a  finer  poem,  may  have  furnished  hints 
to  Swinburne  with  respect  to  anapestic  verse  and  the 
Hebraic  feeling.  Three  poems,  which  strive  to  re 
produce  the  early  likeness  and  spirit  of  Christianity, 


"  The  Her- 
etic 's  Trag 
edy"  etc. 


Studies 
upon  themes 
taken  front 
the  first 
century. 


326 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


merit  close  attention.  One  describes  the  raising  of 
Lazarus,  narrated  in  an  "  Epistle  of  Karshish,  the 
Arab  Physician."  The  pious,  learned  mage  sees  in 
the  miracle 

"  but  a  case  of  mania  —  subinduced 
By  epilepsy,  at  the  turning-point 
Of  trance  prolonged  unduly  some  three  days." 

"Cleon"  is  an  exposition  of  the  highest  ground 
reached  by  the  Pagan  philosophy,  set  forth  in  a 
letter  written,  by  a  wise  poet,  to  Protos,  the  King. 
At  the  end  he  makes  light  of  the  preachings  of  Paul, 
who  is  welcome  to  the  few  proselytes  he  can  make 
among  the  ignorant  slaves:  — 

"And  (as  I  gathered  from  a  bystander) 
Their  doctrines  could  be  held  by  no  sane  man." 

The  reader  is  forced  to  stop  and  consider  what 
despised  doctrines  even  now  may  be  afloat,  which  in 
time  may  constitute  the  whole  world's  creed.  The 
most  elaborate  of  these  pieces  is  "A  Death  in  the 
Desert,"  the  last  words  of  St.  John,  the  Evangelist, 
recorded  by  Pamphylax,  an  Antiochene  martyr.  The 
prologue  and  epilogue  are  sufficiently  pedantic,  but, 
like  the  long-drawn  narrative,  so  characteristic,  that 
this  curious  production  may  be  taken  as  a  represent 
ative  poem.  A  similar  bit  of  realism  is  the  sketch 
of  a  great  poet,  seen  in  every-day  life  by  a  fellow- 
townsman,  entitled,  "  How  it  Strikes  a  Contempo 
rary."  And  now,  having  selected  a  few  of  these 
miscellaneous  pieces  to  represent  the  mass,  how  shall 
we  define  their  true  value,  and  their  influence  upon 
recent  art  ? 

Browning  is  justified  in  offering  such  works  as  a 
substitute  for  poetic  treatment  of  English  themes, 


SCHOLASTIC  REALISM. 


327 


since  he  is  upon  ground  naturally  his  own.  Yet  as 
poems  they  fail  to  move  us,  and  to  gloriously  elevate 
the  soul,  but  are  the  outgrowth  of  minute  realism  and 
speculation.  To  quote  from  one  who  is  reviewing  a 
kindred  sort  of  literature,  they  sin  "  against  the  spirit 
of  antiquity,  in  carrying  back  the  modern  analytic 
feeling  to  a  scene  where  it  does  not  belong."  It  is 
owing  precisely  to  this  sin  that  several  of  Browning's 
longer  works  are  literary  and  rhythmical  prodigies, 
monuments  of  learning  and  labor  rather  than  enno 
bling  efforts  of  the  imagination.  His  hand  is  bur 
dened  by  too  great  accumulation  of  details,  —  and 
then  there  is  the  ever-present  spirit  of  Robert  Brown 
ing  peering  from  the  eyes  of  each  likeness,  however 
faithful,  that  he  portrays. 

He  is  the  most  intellectual  of  poets,  Tennyson  not 
excepted.  Take,  for  example,  "  Caliban,"  with  its 
text,  "Thou  thoughtest  I  was  altogether  such  an  one 
as  thyself."  The  motive  is  a  study  of  anthropomor 
phism,  by  reflection  of  its  counterpart  in  a  lower 
animal,  half  man,  half  beast,  possessed  of  the  faculty 
of  speech.  The  "natural  theology"  is  food  for  thought; 
the  poetry,  descriptive  and  otherwise,  realism  carried 
to  such  perfection  as  to  seem  imagination.  Here  we 
have  Browning's  curious  reasoning  at  its  best.  But 
what  can  be  more  vulgar  and  strictly  unpoetical  than 
"Mr.  Sludge,  the  Medium,"  a  composition  of  the 
same  period  ?  Our  familiarity  with  such  types  as 
those  to  which  the  author's  method  is  here  applied 
enables  us  to  test  it  with  anything  but  satisfaction. 
Applied  to  a  finer  subject,  in  "  Bishop  Blougram's 
Apology,"  we  heartily  admire  its  virile  analysis  of  the 
motives  actuating  the  great  prelate,  who  after  due 
reflection  has  rejected 


328 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Occasional 
lyrics : 


TJteir  excel 
lence  and 
faults. 


"  A  life  of  doubt  diversified  by  faith 
For  one  of  faith  diversified  by  doubt." 

Cardinal  Wiseman  is  worldly  and  insincere ;  the 
poet,  Gigadibs,  is  earnest  and  on  the  right  side ;  yet, 
somehow,  we  do  not  quite  despise  the  churchman 
nor  admire  the  poet.  This  piece  is  at  once  the  fore 
most  defence  and  arraignment  of  Philistinism,  drawn 
up  by  a  thinker  broad  enough  to  comprehend  both 
sides.  As  an  intellectual  work,  it  is  meat  and  wine ; 
as  a  poem,  as  a  thing  of  beauty,  —  but  that  is  quite 
another  point  in  issue. 

Browning's  offhand,  occasional  lyrics,  such  as  "  War 
ing,"  "Time's  Revenges,"  "  Up  in  a  Villa,"  "The  Ital 
ian  in  England,"  "  By  the  Fireside,"  "  The  Worst  of 
It,"  etc.,  are  suggestive,  and  some  of  them  widely 
familiar.  His  style  has  been  caught  by  others.  The 
picturesqueness  and  easy  rhythm  of  "The  Flight  of 
the  Duchess,"  and  the  touches  in  briefer  lyrics,  are 
repeated  by  minnesingers  like  Owen  Meredith  and 
Dobell.  There  is  a  grace  and  turn  that  still  evades 
them,  for  sometimes  their  master  can  be  as  sweet  and 
tuneful  as  Lodge,  or  any  other  of  the  skylarks.  Wit 
ness  "  In  a  Gondola,"  that  delicious  Venetian  cantata, 
full  of  music  and  sweet  sorrow,  or  "One  Way  of  Love," 
for  example,  —  but  such  melodies  are  none  too  fre 
quent.  When  he  paints  nature,  as  in  "  Home  Thoughts, 
from  Abroad,"  how  fresh  and  fine  the  landscape !  ' 

"  And  after  April,  when  May  follows, 
And  the  white-throat  builds,  and  all  the  swallows,  — 
Hark!  where  my  blossomed  pear-tree  in  the  hedge 
Leans  to  the  field  and  scatters  on  the  clover 
Blossoms,  and  dew-drops  —  at  the  bent  spray's  edge  — 
That 's  the  wise  thrush  ;  he  sings  each  song  twice  over, 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first  fine  careless  rapture  !  " 


HIS  SUGGESTIVENESS. 


329 


Having  in  mind  Shakespeare  and  Shelley,  I  neverthe 
less  think  the  last  three  lines  the  finest  ever  written 
touching  the  song  of  a  bird.  Contrast  therewith  the 
poet's  later  method,  —  the  prose-run-mad  of  stanzas 
such  as  this  :  — 

"  Hobbs  hints  blue,  —  straight  he  turtle  eats. 

Nobbs  prints  blue,  —  claret  crowns  his  cup. 
Nokes  outdares  Stokes  in  azure  feats,  — 

Both  gorge.     Who  fished  the  murex  up  ? 
What  porridge  had  John  Keats?" 

And  this  by  no  means  the  most  impertinent  of  kindred 
verses  in  his  books,  —  poetry  that  neither  gods  nor 
men  can  endure  or  understand,  and  yet  interstrewn 
with  delicate  trifles,  such  as  "  Memorabilia,"  which  for 
suggestiveness  long  will  be  preserved.  Who  so  deft  to 
catch  the  one  immortal  moment,  the  fleeting  exqui 
site  word?  Who  so  wont  to  reach  for  it,  and  wholly 
fail? 

VI. 

WE  come,  at  last,  to  a  class  of  Browning's  poems 
that  I  have  grouped  for  their  expression  of  that  domi 
nating  sentiment,  to  which  reference  was  made  at  the 
beginning  of  this  review.  Their  moral  is  that  of  the 
apothegm  that  "  Attractions  are  proportional  to  desti-  j 
nies  " ;  of  rationalistic  freedom,  as  opposed  to  Calvin 
ism  ;  of  a  belief  that  the  greatest  sin  does  not  consist 
in  giving  rein  to  our  desires,  but  in  stinting  or  too 
prudently  repressing  them.  Life  must  have  its  full 
and  free  development  And,  as  love  is  the  master- 
passion,  he  is  most  earnest  in  illustrating  this  belief 
from  its  good  or  evil  progress,  and  to  this  end  has 
composed  his  most  impressive  verse. 


Moral  of  his 

emotional 

•verse. 


330 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


A  main  lesson  of  Browning's  emotional  poetry  is 
that  the  unpardonable  sin  is  "to  dare  something 
against  nature."  To  set  bounds  to  love  is  to  commit 
that  sin.  Through  his  instinct  for  conditions  which 
engender  the  most  dramatic  forms  of  speech  and  ac 
tion,  he  is,  at  least,  as  an  artist,  tolerant  of  what  is 
called  an  intrigue  ;  and  that  many  complacent  English 
and  American  readers  do  not  recognize  this,  speaks 
volumes  either  for  their  stupidity,  or  for  their  hypoc 
risy  and  inward  sympathy  in  a  creed  which  they  pro 
fess  to  abhor.  Affecting  to  comprehend  and  admire 
Browning,  they  still  refuse  to  forgive  Swinburne, — 
whose  crude  earlier  poems  brought  the  lust  of  the 
flesh  to  the  edge  of  a  grossness  too  palpable  to  be 
seductive,  and  from  which  his  riper  manhood  has 
departed  altogether.  The  elder  poet,  from  first  to 
last,  has  appeared  to  defend  the  elective  affinities 
against  impediments  of  law,  theology,  or  social  rank. 
It  is  not  my  province  to  discuss  the  ethics  of  this 
matter,  but  simply  to  speak  of  it  as  a  fact. 

It  will  not  do  to  fall  back  upon  Browning's  protest, 
in  the  note  to  his  "  Dramatic  Lyrics,"  that  these  are 
"  so  many  utterances  of  so  many  imaginary  persons," 
and  not^his  own.  For  when  he  returns  persistently 
to  a  certain  theme,  illustrates  it  in  divers  ways, 'and 
heaps  the  coals  of  genius  upon  it  till  it  breaks  out 
into  flame,  he  ceases  to  be  objective  and  reveals  his 
secret  thought.  No  matter  how  conservative  his  habit, 
he  is  to  be  judged,  like  any  artist,  by  his  work  ;  and 
in  all  his  poems  we  see  a  taste  for  the  joys  and  sor 
rows  <pf  a  free,  irresponsible  life,  —  like  that  of  the 
Italian  lovers,  of  students  in  their  vagrant  youth,  or 
of  Consuelo  and  her  husband  upon  the  windy  heath. 
Above  all,  he  tells  us :  — 


A  BALCONY: 


"Thou  shalt  know,  those  arms  once  curled 
About  thee,  what  we  knew  before, 
How  love  is  the  only  good  in  the  world." 

"In  a  Balcony"  is  the  longest  and  finest  of  his  emo 
tional  poems :  a  dramatic  episode,  in  three  dialogues, 
the  personages  of  which  talk  at  too  great  length, — 
although,  no  doubt,  many  and  varied  thoughts  flash 
through  the  mind  at  supreme  moments,  and  it  is 
Browning's  custom  to  put  them  all  upon  the  record. 
How  clearly  the  story  is  wrought !  What  exquisite 
language,  and  passion  triumphant  over  life  and  death ! 
Mark  the  transformation  of  the  lonely  queen,  in  the 
one  radiant  hour  of  her  life  that  tells  her  she  is  be 
loved,  and  makes  her  an  angel  of  goodness  and  light. 
She  barters  power  and  pride  for  love,  clutching  at 
this  one  thing  as  at  Heaven,  and  feels 

"  How  soon  a  smile  of  God  can  change  the  world." 

Then  comes  the  transformation,  upon  discovery  of 
the  cruel  deceit,  —  her  vengeance  and  despair.  The 
love  of  Constance,  who  for  it  will  surrender  life,  and 
even  Norbert's  hand,  is  more  unselfish  ;  never  more 
subtly,  perhaps,  than  in  this  poem,  has  been  illus 
trated  Byron's  epigram  :  —  , 

"In  her  first  passion,  woman  loves  her  lover: 
In  all  the  others,  all  she  loves  is  love." 

Here,  too,  is  the  profound  lesson  of  the  whole,  that 
a  word  of  the  man  Norbert's  simple,  blundering  truth 
would  have  prevented  all  this  coil.  But  the  poet  is 
at  his  height  in  treating  of  the  master  passion  :  — 

"Remember,  I  (and  what  am  I  to  you?) 
Would  give  up  all  for  one,  leave  throne,  lose  life, 
Do  all  but  just  unlove  him !   he  loves  me." 


"  In  a  Bal 
cony." 


332 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"The  Statue 
and  the 
Bust."  - 


With  fine  abandonment  he  makes  the  real  worth 
so  much  more  than  the  ideal:  — 

"  We  live,  and  they  experiment  on  life, 
These  poets,  painters,  all  who  stand  aloof 
To  overlook  the  farther.     Let  us  be 
The  thing  they  look  at!" 

But  in  a  large  variety  of  minor  lyrics  it  is  hinted 
that  our  instincts  have  something  divine  about  them ; 
that,  regardless  of  other  obligations,  we  may  not  dis 
obey  the  inward  monition.  A  man  not  only  may  for 
sake  father  and  mother  and  cleave  to  his  wife  ;  but 
forsake  his  wife  and  cleave  to  the  predestined  one. 
No  sin  like  repression ;  no  sting  like  regret ;  no 
requital  for  the  opportunity  slighted  and  gone  by. 
In  "The  Statue  and  the  Bust,"  —  a  typical  piece,  - 
had  the  man  and  woman  seen  clearly  "  the  end  "  of 
life,  though  "  a  crime,"  they  had  not  so  failed  of 
it:  — 

"If  you  choose  to  play  —  is  my  principle! 
Let  a  man  contend  to  the  uttermost 
For  his  life's  set  prize,  be  it  what  it  will  ! 

• 
"The  counter  our  lovers  staked  was  lost 

As  surely  as  if  it  were  lawful  coin  : 

And  the  sin  I  impute  to  each  frustrate  ghost 

"Was,  the  unlit  lamp  and  the  ungirt  loin. 
Though  the  end  in  sight  was  a  crime,  I  say." 

"  A  Light  Woman  "  turns  upon  the  right  of  every 
soul,  however  despicable,  to  its  own  happiness,  and 
to  freedom  from  the  meddling  of  others.  The  words 
of  many  lyrics,  attesting  the  boundless  liberty  and 
sovereignty  of  love,  are  plainly  written,  and  to  say 
the  lesson  is  not  there  is  to  ape  those  commentators 


POETRY  ADDRESSED   TO  HIS   WIFE. 


333 


who    discover    an    allegorical    meaning    in  each  Scrip 
tural  text  that  interferes  with  their  special  creeds. 

Both  Browning  and  his  wife  possessed  by  nature  a 
radical  gift  for  sifting  things  to  the  core,  an  heroic 
disregard  of  every  conventional  gloss  or  institution. 
They  were  thoroughly  mated  in  this  respect,  though 
one  may  have  outstripped  the  other  in  exercise  of  the 
faculty.  Their  union,  apparently,  was  so  absolute 
that  neither  felt  any  need  of  fuller  emotional  life. 
The  sentiment  of  Browning's  passional  verse,  there 
fore,  is  not  the  outgrowth  of  perceptions  sharpened 
by  restraint.  The  poetry  addressed  to  his  wife  is,  if 
anything,  of  a  still  higher  order.  He  watches  her 

"  Reading  by  firelight,  that  great  brow 

And  the  spirit-small  hand  propping  it 
Mutely  —  my  heart  knows  how  — 

"  When,  if  I  think  but  deep  enough, 

You  are  wont  to  answer,  prompt  as  rhyme " ; 

and  again  and  again   addresses  her  in  such  lines  as 
these  :  — 

"  God  be  thanked,  the  meanest  of  his  creatures 
Boasts  two  soul-sides,  one  to  face  the  world  with, 
One  to  show  a  woman  when  he  loves  her. 

This  to  you  —  yourself  my  moon  of  poets! 

Ah,  but  that's  the  world's  side  —  there's  the  wonder  — 

Thus  they  see  you,  praise  you,  think  they  know  you." 

In  fine,  not  only  his  passional  lyrics,  but  all  the 
poems  relating  to  the  wedded  love  in  which  his  own 
deepest  instincts  were  thoroughly  gratified,  are  the 
most  strong  and  simple  portion  of  his  verse,  —  show 
ing  that  luminous  expression  is  still  the  product  of 
high  emotion,  as  some  conceive  the  diamond  to  have 
been  crystallized  by  the  electric  shock. 


334 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"  Dramatis 
Personee." 


"  The  Ring 
and  the 
Book,"  1869. 


An  intel 
lectual  mar 
vel. 


VII. 

MANY  of  the  lyrics  in  the  volume  of  1864  are  so 
thin  and  faulty,  and  so  fail  to  carry  out  the  author's 
intent,  —  the  one  great  failure  in  art,  —  as  sadly  to 
illustrate  the  progressive  ills  which  attend  upon  a 
wrong  method. 

The  gift  still  remained,  however,  for  no  work  dis 
plays  more  of  ill-diffused  power  and  swift  application 
than  Browning's  longest  poem,  The  Ring  and  the  Book. 
It  has  been  succeeded  rapidly,  within  five  years,  by 
other  works,  —  the  whole  almost  equalling,  in  bulk, 
the  entire  volume  of  his  former  writings.  Their  special 
quality  is  affluence :  limitless  wealth  of  language  and 
illustration.  They  abound  in  the  material  of  poetry. 
A  poet  should  condense  from  such  star-dust  the  orbs 
which  give  light  and  outlast  time.  As  in  "  Sordello," 
Browning  again  fails  to  do  this ;  he  gives  us  his 
first  draught,  —  the  huge,  outlined  block,  yet  to  be 
reduced  to  fit  proportions,  —  the  painter's  sketch, 
blotchy  and  too  obscure,  and  of  late  without  the 
early  freshness. 

Nevertheless,  "  The  Ring  and  the  Book "  is  a  won 
derful  production,  the  extreme  of  realistic  art,  and 
considered,  not  without  reason,  by  the  poet's  admi 
rers,  to  be  his  greatest  work.  To  review  it  would 
require  a  special  chapter,  and  I  have  said  enough 
with  respect  to  the  author's  style  in  my  citation  of 
his  less  extended  poems;  but  as  the  product  of  sheer 
intellect  this  surpasses  them  all.  It  is  the  story  of  a 
tragedy  which  took  place  at  Rome  one  hundred  and 
seventy  years  ago.  The  poet  seems  to  have  found 
his  thesis  in  an  old  book,  —  part  print,  part  manu 
script, —  bought  for  eight  pence  at  a  Florence  stall:  — 


THE  RING  AND   THE  BOOK: 


335 


"A  book  in  shape,  but,  really,  pure  crude  fact 
Secreted  from  man's  life  when  hearts  beat  hard, 
And  brains,  high-blooded,  ticked  two  centuries  since." 

The  versified  narrative  of  the  child  Pampilia's  sale  to 
Count  Guido,  of  his  cruelty  and  violence,  of  her 
rescue  by  a  young  priest,  —  the  pursuit,  the  lawful 
separation,  the  murder  by  Guido  of  the  girl  and  her 
putative  parents,  the  trial  and  condemnation  of  the 
murderer,  and  the  affirmation  of  his  sentence  by  the 
Pope,  —  all  this  is  made  to  fill  out  a  poem  of  twenty- 
one  thousand  lines  ;  but  these  include  ten  different 
versions  of  the  same  tale,  besides  the  poet's  prelude, 
—  in  which  latter  he  gives  a  general  outline  of  it,  so 
that  the  reader  plainly  may  understand  it,  and  the 
historian  then  be  privileged  to  wander  as  he  choose. 
The  chapters  which  contain  the  statements  of  the 
priest-lover  and  Pampilia  are  full  of  tragic  beauty  and 
emotion  ;  the  Pope's  soliloquy,  though  too  prolonged, 
is  a  wonderful  piece  of  literary  metempsychosis  j  but 
the  speeches  of  the  opposing  lawyers  carry  realism 
to  an  intolerable,  prosaic  extreme.  Each  of  these 
books,  possibly,  should  be  read  by  itself,  and  not  too 
steadily  nor  too  often.  Observe  that  the  author,  in 
elevated  passages,  sometimes  forgets  his  usual  manner 
and  breaks  into  the  cadences  of  Tennyson's  style;  for 
instance,  the  apostrophe  to  his  dead  wife,  beginning 

"  O  lyric  Love,  half  angel  and  half  bird, 
And  all  a  wonder  and  a  wild  desire  !  " 

But  elsewhere  he  still  leads  the  reaction  from  the 
art-school.  His  presentations  are  endless  :  in  his  ar 
chitecture  the  tracery,  scroll-work,  and  multifoil  be 
wilder  us  and  divert  attention  from  the  main  design. 
Yet  in  presence  of  the  changeful  flow  of  his  verse, 


Outline  of 
the  poem. 


The  style  of 
certain  pas 
sages. 


336 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


"  Balaus- 
t ion's  A  d- 
•uenture" 
1871. 


"  Fifine  at 
the  Fair" 
1872. 


and  the  facility  wherewith  he  records  the  speculations 
of  his  various  characters,  we  are  struck  with  wonder. 
"  The  Ring  and  the  Book "  is  thus  far  imaginative, 
and  a  rhythmical  marvel,  but  is  it  a  stronghold  of 
poetic  art  ?  As  a  whole,  we  cannot  admit  that  it  is  ; 
and  yet  the  thought,  the  vocabulary,  the  imagery,  the 
wisdom,  lavished  upon  this  story,  would  equip  a  score 
of  ordinary  writers,  and  place  them  beyond  danger  of 
neglect. 

Balaustiorfs  Adventure,  the  poet's  next  volume,  dis 
plays  a  tranquil  beauty  uncommon  in  his  verse,  and 
it  seems  as  if  he  sought,  after  his  most  prolonged 
effort,  to  refresh  his  mind  with  the  sweetness  and 
repose  of  Greek  art.  He  treads  decently  and  rever 
ently  in  the  buskins  of  Euripides,  and  forgets  to  be 
garrulous  in  his  chaste  semi-translation  of  the  Alcestis. 
The  girl  Balaustion's  prelude  and  conclusion  are  very 
neatly  turned,  reminding  us  of  Landor ;  nor  does  the 
book,  as  a  whole,  lack  the  antique  flavor  and  the 
blue,  laughing  freshness  of  the  Trinacrian  sea. 

What  shall  be  said  of  Fifine  at  tJie  Fair,  or  of  that 
volume,  the  last  but  one  of  Browning's  essays,  which 
not  long  ago  succeeded  it?  Certainly,  that  they  ex 
hibit  his  steadfast  tendency  to  produce  work  that  is 
less  and  less  poetical.  There  is  no  harder  reading 
than  the  first  of  these  poems;  no  more  badly  chosen, 
rudely  handled  measure  than  the  verse  selected  for 
it ;  no  pretentious  work,  from  so  great  a  pen,  has  less 
of  the  spirit  of  grace  and  comeliness.  It  is  a  pity 
that  the  author  has  not  somewhat  accustomed  himself 
to  write  in  prose,  for  he  insists  upon  recording  all  of 
his  thoughts,  and  many  of  them  are  essentially  pro 
saic.  Strength  and  subtilty  are  not  enough  in  art : 
beauty,  either  of  the  fair,  the  terrible,  or  the  gro- 


HIS  LATER  PRODUCTIONS. 


337 


tesque,  is  its  justification,  and  a  poem  that  repels  at 
the  outset  has  small  excuse  for  being.  "  Prince 
Hohenstiel-Schwangau,  Savior  of  Society,"  is  another 
of  Browning's  experiments  in  vivisection,  the  subject 
readily  made  out  to  be  the  late  Emperor  of  the 
French.  It  is  longer  than  "  Bishop  Blougram's  Apol 
ogy,"  but  compare  it  therewith,  and  we  are  forced  to 
perceive  a  decline  in  terseness,  virility,  and  true  im 
aginative  power. 

Red  Cotton  Night-Cap  Country;  or,  Turf  and  Towers, 
—  what  exasperating  titles  Browning  puts  forth  !  this 
time  under  the  protection  of  Miss  Thackeray.  That 
the  habit  is  inbred,  however,  is  proved  by  some  ab 
surd  invention  whenever  it  becomes  necessary  to  coin 
a  proper  name.  After  "  Bluphocks  "  and  "  Gigadibs," 
we  have  no  right  to  complain  of  the  title  of  his 
Breton  romance.  The  poem  itself  contains  a  melo 
dramatic  story,  and  hence  is  less  uninteresting  than 
"  Fifine."  But  to  have  such  a  volume,  after  Brown 
ing's  finer  works,  come  out  with  each  revolving  year, 
is  enough  to  extort  from  his  warmest  admirers  the 
cry  of  "Words!  Words!  Words!"  Much  of  the 
detail  is  paltry,  and  altogether  local  or  temporal,  so 
that  it  will  become  inexplicable  fifty  years  hence. 
There  is  a  constant  "  dropping  into "  prose  ;  more 
over,  whole  pages  of  wandering  nonsense  are  called 
forth  by  some  word,  like  "  night-cap "  or  "  fiddle," 
taken  for  a  text,  as  if  to  show  the  poet's  mastery  of 
verse-building  and  how  contemptible  he  can  make  it. 
Once  he  would  have  put  the  narrative  of  this  poem 
into  a  brief  dramatic  sketch  that  would  have  had 
beauty  and  interest.  "  My  Last  Duchess  "  is  a  more 
genuine  addition  to  literature  than  the  two  hundred 
pages  of  this  tedious  and  affected  romance.  A  pro- 
15  v 


"Prince 
Hohenstiel- 
Sckwan- 
gau." 


"Red  Cot 
ton  Night- 
Cap  Coun- 
try,"  1873. 


Decline  in 
poetic  value. 


333 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Only  a  ivise 
method  can 
sustain  a 
prolonged 
career. 


"Aristopha 
nes'  Apol 
ogy"  1875. 


Final  esti 
mate  of  this 
Poet. 

Most  origi 
nal  arid 
unequal. 


longed  career  has  not  been  of  advantage  to  the 
reputation  of  Browning:  his  tree  was  well-rooted  and 
reached  a  sturdy  growth,  but  the  yield  is  too  profuse, 
of  a  fruit  that  still  grows  sourer  from  year  to  year. 

Nevertheless,  this  poet,  like  all  men  of  genius,  has 
happy  seasons  in  which,  by  some  remarkable  per 
formance,  he  seems  to  renew  his  prime.  Aristopha 
nes'  Apology  continues  the  charm  of  "Balaustion's 
Adventure,"  to  which  poem  it  is  a  sequel.  What  I 
have  said  of  the  classical  purity  and  sweetness  of 
the  earlier  production  will  apply  to  portions  of  "the 
last  adventure  of  Balaustion,"  —  which  also  includes 
"  a  transcript  from  Euripides."  Besides,  it  displays 
the  richness  of  scholarship,  command  of  learned  de 
tails,  skill  in  sophistry  and  analysis,  power  to  recall, 
awaken,  and  dramatically  inform  the  historic  past,  in 
all  which  qualifications  this  master  still  remains  un 
equalled  by  any  modern  writer,  even  by  the  most 
gifted  and  affluent  pupil  of  his  own  impressive  school. 

VIII. 

A  FAIR  estimate  of  Browning  may,  I  think,  be  de 
duced  from  the  foregoing  review  of  his  career.  It 
is  hard  to  speak  of  one  whose  verse  is  a  metrical 
paradox.  I  have  called  him  the  most  original  and 
the  most  unequal  of  living  poets ;  he  continually 
descends  to  a  prosaic  level,  but  at  times  is  elevated 
to  the  Laureate's  highest  flights.  Without  realizing 
the  proper  functions  of  art,  he  nevertheless  sympa 
thizes  with  the  joyous  liberty  of  its  devotees;  his  life 
may  be  conventional,  but  hey,ne\ef  forgets  the  Latin 
Quarter,  ^amF*  often  celebrates  that  "freedom  in  love 
and  song  which  is  the  soul  of  Beranger's 


LAW  AND  LAWLESSNESS  IN  ART. 


339 


"  Dans  un  grenier  qu'on  est  bien  a  vingt  ans." 

Then,  too,  what  working  man  of  letters  does  not  thank 
him  when  he  says,  — 

"  But  you  are  of  the  trade,  my  Puccio ! 
You  have  the  fellow-craftsman's  sympathy. 
There  's  none  knows  like  a  fellow  of  the  craft 
The  all  unestimated  sum  of  pains 
That  go  to  a  success  the  world  can  see." 

He  is  an  eclectic,  and  will  not  be  restricted  in  his 
themes  ;  on  the  other  hand,  he  gives  us  too  gross  a 
mixture  of  poetry,  fact,  and  metaphysics,  appearing 
to  have  no  sense  of  composite  harmony,  but  to  revel 
in  arabesque  strangeness  and  confusion.  He  has  a 
barbaric  sense  of  color  and  lack  of  form.  Striving 
against  the  trammels  of  verse,  he  really  is  far  less  a 
master  of  expression  than  others  who  make  less  re 
sistance.  We  read  in  "  Pippa  Passes " :  "  If  there 
should  arise  a  new  painter,  will  it  not  be  in  some 
such  way  by  a  poet,  now,  or  a  musician  (spirits  who 
have  conceived  and  perfected  an  Ideal  through  some 
other  channel),  transferring  it  to  this,  and  escaping 
our  conventional  roads  by  pure  ignorance-  of  them  ? " 
This  is  the  Pre-Raphaelite  idea,  and,  so  far,  good ; 
but  Browning's  fault  is  that,  if  he  has  "conceived,"  he 
certainly  has  made  no  effort  to  "  perfect "  an  Ideal. 

And  here  I  wish  to  say,  —  and  this  is  something 
which,  soon  or  late,  every  thoughtful  poet  must  dis 
cover,  —  that  the  structural  exigencies  of  art,  if  one 
adapts  his  genius  to  them,  have  a  beneficent  reaction 
upon  the  artist's  original  design.  Efy  some  friendly 
law  they  help  the  work  to  higher  excellence,  suggest 
ing  unthought-of  touches,  and  refracting,  so  to  speak, 
the  single  beam  of  light  in  rays  of  varied  and  delight 
ful  beauty. 


A  true  fel 
low-crafts 
man. 


Rich,  yet 
barbaric 
taste. 


The  limits 
of  freedom 
in  art .' 


Their  benefi 
cent  reaction 
upon  the  art- 
ist's  work. 


340 


ROBERT  BROWNING. 


Ultimate  re 
sults  of  law 
lessness. 


Browning1  s 
minute  dra 
matic  in- 
sight. 


The  brakes  which  art  applies  to  the  poet's  move 
ment  not  only  regulate,  but  strengthen  its  progress. 
Their  absence  is  painfully  evinced  by  the  mass  of 
Browning's  unread  verse.  Works  like  "  Sordello  "  and 
"  Fifine,"  however  intellectual,  seem,  like  the  removal 
of  the  Malvern  Hills,  a  melancholy  waste  of  human 
power.  When  some  romance  like  the  last-named 
comes  from  his  pen,  —  an  addition  in  volume,  not  in 
quality,  to  what  he  has  done  before,  —  I  feel  a  sad 
ness  like  that  engendered  among  hundreds  of  gloomy 
folios  in  some  black-letter  alcove :  books,  forever  closed, 
over  which  the  mighty  monks  of  old  wore  out  their 
lives,  debating  minute  points  of  casuistic  theology, 
though  now  the  very  memory  of  their  discussions  has 
passed  away.  Would  that  Browning  might  take  to 
heart  his  own  words,  addressed,  in  "Transcendental 
ism,"  to  a  brother-poet :  — 

"  Song 's  our  art  : 

Whereas  you  please  to  speak  these  naked  thoughts 
Instead  of  draping  them  in  sights  and  sounds. 
—  True  thoughts,  good  thoughts,  thoughts  fit  to  treasure  up ! 
But  why  such  long  prolusion  and  display, 
Such  turning  and  adjustment  of  the  harp  ? 

But  here  's  your  fault ;   grown  men  want  thought,  you  think ; 

Thought 's  what  they  mean  by  verse,  and  seek  in  verse  : 

Boys  seek  for  images  and  melody, 

Men  must  have  reason,  —  so  you  aim  at  men. 

Quite  otherwise  ! " 

Incidentally  we  have  noted  the  distinction  between 
the  drama  of  '"Browning  and  that  of  the  absolute 
kind,  observing  that  his  characters  reflect  his  own 
mental  traits,  and  that  their  action  and  emotion  are 
of  small  moment  compared  with  the  speculations  to 
which  he  makes  them  all  give  voice.  Still,  he  has 


ULTIMATE   STANDING  AS  A   POET. 


341 


dramatic  insight,  and  a  minute  power  of  reading  other 
men's  hearts.  His  moral  sentiment  has  a  potent  and 
subtile  quality  :  —  through  his  early  poems  he  really 
founded  a  school,  and  had  imitators,  and,  although 
of  his  later  method  there  are  none,  the  younger  poets 
whom  he  has  most  affected  very  naturally  began  work 
by  carrying  his  philosophy  to  a  startling  yet  perfectly 
logical  extreme. 

Much  of  his  poetry  is  either  very  great  or  very 
poor.  It  has  been  compared  to  Wagner's  music,  and 
entitled  the  "poetry  of  the  future  " ;  but  if  this  be  just, 
then  we  must  revise  our  conception  of  what  poetry 
really  is.  The  doubter  incurs  the  contemptuous  en 
mity  of  two  classes  of  the  dramatist's  admirers :  first, 
of  the  metaphysical,  who  disregard  considerations  of 
passion,  melody,  and  form  ;  secondly,  of  those  who 
are  sensitive  to  their  master's  failings,  but,  in  view  of 
his  greatness,  make  it  a  point  of  honor  to  defend 
them.  That  greatness  lies  in  his  originality ;  his 
error,  arising  from  perverseness  or  congenital  defect, 
is  the  violation  of  natural  and  beautiful  laws.  This 
renders  his  longer  poems  of  less  worth  than  his  lyri 
cal  studies,  while,  through  avoidance  of  it,  produc 
tions,  differing  as  widely  as  "The  Eve  of  St.  Agnes" 
and  "  In  Memoriam,"  will  outlive  "  The  Ring  and  the 
Book."  In  writing  of  Arnold  I  cited  his  own  quota 
tion  of  Goethe's  distinction  between  the  dilettanti,  who 
affect  genius  and  despise  art,  and  those  who  respect 
their  calling  though  not  gifted  with  high  creative  power. 
Browning  escapes  the  limitations  of  the  latter  class, 
but  incurs  the  reproach  visited  upon  the  former ;  and 
by  his  contempt  of  beauty,  or  inability  to  surely  ex 
press  it,  fails  of  that  union  of  art  and  spiritual  power 
which  always  characterizes  a  poet  entirely  great. 


The  "poetry 
of  the  fu 
ture" 


What  con 
stitutes  true 
greatness  in 
art. 


CHAPTER     X. 
LATTER-DAY   SINGERS. 

ROBERT     BUCHANAN.   —  DANTE     GABRIEL     ROSSETTI.   — 
WILLIAM   MORRIS. 


A  new  de 
parture. 


The  latter 
day  poets. 


'"pHROUGHOUT  the  recent  poetry  of  Great  Brit- 
JL  ain  a  new  departure  is  indicated,  and  there  are 
signs  that  the  true  Victorian  era  has  nearly  reached 
a  close.  To  speak  more  fully,  we  approach  the  end 
of  that  time  in  which  —  although  a  composite  school 
has  derived  its  models  from  all  preceding  forms  — - 
the  idyllic  method,  as  represented  by  Tennyson,  upon 
the  whole  has  prevailed,  and  has  been  more  success 
ful  than  in  earlier  times,  and  than  contemporary 
efforts  in  the  higher  scale  of  song. 

All  periods  are  transitional ;  yet  it  may  be  said 
that  the  calling  of  the  British  poets,  during  the  last 
fifteen  years,  has  been  a  "  struggle,"  not  so  much  for 
recognition,  as  for  the  vital  influence  which  consti 
tutes  a  genuine  "existence."  Th,e  latter-day  singers, 
who  bear  a  special  relation  to  the  immediate  future, 
are  like  those  priests  of  the  Sun,  who,  on  hills  over 
looking  the  temples  of  strange  gods,  and  above  the 
tumult  of  a  hostile  nation,  tend  the  sacred  fire,  in 
presence  of  their  band  of  devotees,  and  wait  for  the 
coming  of  a  fairer  day.  Not  that  the  blood  of  Eng- 


A    CONFLICT  OF  INTERESTS. 


343 


lishmen  is  more  frigid,  and  their  wants  more  sordid, 
than  of  old.  The  time  is  sufficiently  imaginative. 
Love  of  excitement,  the  most  persistent  of  human 
motives,  is  strong  as  ever.  But  the  sources  are  vari 
ous  which  now  supply  to  the  imagination  that  stimu 
lus  for  which  the  new  generation  otherwise  might 
resort  to  poetry.  It  is  an  age  of  journalism  ;  all  the 
acts  of  all  the  world  are  narrated  by  the  daily  press. 
It  is,  we  have  seen,  a  time  of  criticism  and  scholar 
ship,  similar  to  the  Alexandrian  period  of  Greek 
thought.  It  is  the  very  noontide  of  imaginative  work 
in  prose ;  and  so  largely  have  great  novelists  sup 
planted  the  poets  in  general  regard,  that  annalists 
designate  the  Victorian  period  as  the  "  age  of  prose 
romance."  Finally,  and  notably  within  the  last  dec 
ade,  readers  have  been  confronted  with  those  won 
ders  of  science  which  have  a  double  effect,  —  destroy 
ing  the  old  poetic  diction  and  imagery,  and  elevating 
the  soul  with  beauty  and  sublimity  beyond  anything 
proffered  by  verse  of  the  idyllic  kind.  The  poets  — 
especially  Tennyson,  in  his  recognition  of  modern 
science  and  the  new  theology  —  have  tried  to  meet 
the  exigency,  but  their  efforts  have  been  timid  and 
hardly  successful.  Their  art,  though  noble  and  re 
fined,  rarely  has  swayed  the  multitude,  or  even  led 
the  literary  progress  of  the  time,  -t-  that  which  verse 
v/as  wont  to  do  in  the  great  poetic  epochs.  Year  by 
year  these  adverse  conditions  have  been  more  se 
verely  felt.  To  the  latest  poets,  I  say,  the  situation 
is  so  oppressive  that  there  is  reason  to  believe  it 
must  be  near  an  end,  and  hence  we  see  them  striv 
ing  to  break  through  and  out  of  the  restrictions  that 
surround  them. 

Where  is  the  point  of   exit?     This  is  the  problem 


Their  em 
barrass 
ments' 


344 


LA  TTER-DA  Y  SINGERS. 


which,  singly  or  in  groups,  they  are  trying,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  to  solve.  Some  return  to  a  purely 
natural  method,  applying  it  to  scenes  whose  fresh 
ness  and  simplicity  may  win  attention  ;  others  with 
draw  to  the  region  of  absolute  art,  and  by  new  and 
studied  forms  of  constructive  beauty  gratify  their  own 
taste,  and  at  least  secure  a  delight  in  labor  which, 
of  itself,  is  full  compensation.  Some  have  applied 
poetic  investigation  to  the  spiritual  themes  which 
float  like  shadows  among  the  pillars  and  arches  of 
recent  materialism ;  finally,  all  are  agreed  in  attempt 
ing  to  infuse  with  more  dramatic  passion  the  over- 
cultured  method  of  the  day. 

In  this  last  endeavor  I  am  sure  their  instinct  is 
right.  Modern  art  has  carried  restraint  and  breeding 
below  the  level  of  repose.  Poetry,  to  recover  its 
station,  must  shake  off  its  luxurious  sleep  :  the  Phi 
listines  are  upon  it.  It  must  stimulate  feeling,  arouse 
to  life,  love,  and  action,  before  there  can  be  a  true 
revival  of  its  ancient  power. 

It  would  be  invidious  to  lay  any  stress  upon  the 
fact  that  the  body  of  recent  English  verse  is  supplied 
by  those  smaller  lyrists,  who,  the  poet  tells  us,  never 
weary  of  singing  the  old  eternal  song.  Socialists 
avow  that  Nature  is  unerring  in  the  distribution  of 
her  groups.  Among  a  thousand  men  are  so  many 
natural  farmers,  so  many  mechanics,  a  number  of 
scholars,  two  or  three  musicians,  —  a  single  philan 
thropist,  it  may  be.  But  we  search  groups  of  a  hun 
dred  thousand  for  a  tolerable  poet,  and  of  a  million 
for  a  good  one.  The  inspired  are  in  the  proportion 
of  diamonds  to  amethysts,  of  gold  to  iron.  If,  in  the 
generation  younger  than  Tennyson  and  the  Brown 
ings,  we  discover  three  or  four  singers  fit  to  aspire 


REPRESENTATIVE  NAMES. 


345 


and  lead  the  way,  especially  at  this  stage  of  compe 
tition  with  science  and  prose  romance,  there  surely  is 
no  need  that  we  should  wholly  despair. 

I  have  spoken  elsewhere  of  the  minor  poets,  and  of 
those  specialists  who  excel  in  dialect-writing  and  so 
ciety-verse,  and  have  derived  from  their  miscellaneous 
productions  an  idea  of  the  tone  and  fashion  of  the 
period.  As  we  seek  for  those  who  are  distinguished, 
not  only  by  power  and  individuality,  but  by  the  impor 
tance  of  their  accomplished  work,  three  or  four,  at 
most,  require  specific  attention.  Another  year,  and 
the  position  may  be  changed ;  for  poets  are  like  com 
ets  in  the  suddenness  of  their  appearance,  and  too 
often  also  in  brief  glory,  hyperbolic  orbit,  and  abrupt 
departure  to  be  seen  no  more. 

Of  the  four  whose  names  most  readily  occur  to  the 
mind,  —  Buchanan,  Rossetti,  Morris,  and  Swinburne, 
—  the  first  holds  an  isolated  position  ;  the  remaining 
three,  though  their  gifts  are  entirely  distinctive,  have 
an  appearance  of  association  through  sympathy  in 
taste  or  studies,  —  so  that,  while  to  classify  them  as 
a  school  might  be  unphilosophical,  to  think  of  one  is 
to  recall  the  others.  Such  a  group  is  not  without 
precedent  It  is  not  for  this  cause  that  I  include  the 
three  under  one  review ;  if  it  were  so,  Buchanan,  from 
his  antagonistic  position,  well  might  be  placed  else 
where.  The  fact  is,  that  all  are  latter-day  poets,  and 
need  not  object  to  meet  on  the  footing  of  guests  in 
the  house  of  a  common  friend.  With  the  exception  of 
Rossetti,  these  later  poets  are  alike  in  at  least  one 
respect :  they  are  distinguished  from  the  Farringford 
school  by  a  less  condensed,  more  affluent  order  of 
work,  —  are  prodigal  of  their  verse,  pouring  it  out  in 
youth,  and  flooding  the  ear  with  rhythm.  There  is 
15* 


346 


ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


Robert  Bu 
chanan  : 
born  in  Scot 
land,  Aug. 
18,  1841. 


His  temper 
ament. 


no  nursing  of  couplets,  and  so  fruitful  a  yield  may  be 
taken  as  the  evidence  of  a  rich  and  fertile  soil. 


II. 

JUDGED  either  by  his  verse  or  by  his  critical  writings, 
Robert  Buchanan  seems  to  have  a  highly  developed 
poetic  temperament,  with  great  earnestness,  strength 
of  conviction,  and  sensitiveness  to  points  of  right  and 
wrong.  Upon  the  whole,  he  represents,  possibly  more 
than  any  other  rising  man,  the  Scottish  element  in 
literature, — an  element  that  stubbornly  retains  its  char 
acteristics,  just  as  Scotch  blood  manages  to  hold  its 
own  through  many  changes  of  emigration,  intermar 
riage,  or  long  descent.  The  most  prosaic  Scotsman 
has  something  of  the  imagination  and  warmth  of  feel 
ing  that  belong  to  a  poet;  the  Scottish  minstrel  has 
the  latter  quality,  at  least,  to  an  extent  beyond  ordi 
nary  comprehension.  He  wears  his  heart  upon  his 
sleeve ;  his  naivete  and  self-consciousness  subject  him 
to  charges  of  egotism ;  he  has  strong  friends,  but 
makes  as  many  enemies  by  tilting  against  other  peo 
ple's  convictions,  and  by  zealous  advocacy  of  his  own. 

It  is  difficult  for  such  a  man  to  confine  himself  to 
pure  art,  and  Buchanan  is  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
He  is  a  Scotsman  all  over,  and  not  only  in  push  and 
aggressiveness,  but,  let  me  add,  in  versatility,  in  gen 
uine  love  and  knowledge  of  nature,  and  in  his  reli 
gious  aspiration.  The  latter  does  not  manifest  itself 
through  allegiance  to  any  traditional  belief,  but  through 
a  spirit  of  individual  inquiry,  resulting  in  speculations 
which  he  advances  with  all  the  fervor  of  Knox  or 
Chalmers,  and  thus  furnishes  another  illustration  of 
the  saying  that  every  Scot  has  a  creed  of  his  own. 


A  PUPIL  OF  WORDSWORTH. 


347 


Great  Britain  can  well  afford  to  tolerate  the.rffet^ 
physics  of  Scotland  for  the  sake  of  her  poetry.  Bt*> 
chanan's  transcendentalism  is  mentioned  here,  because 
he  has  made  his  verse  its  exponent,  and  thus,  in  his 
chosen  quest  after  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  has 
placed  himself  apart  from  the  other  poets  of  his  time. 

The  library  edition  of  his  writings,  recently  issued, 
does  not  exhibit  accurately  the  progress  of  his  growth. 
The  poems  are  not  arranged  in  the  order  of  their 
composition,  but  upon  a  system  adapted  to  the  au 
thor's  taste.  In  their  perusal  this  is  not  the  only 
feature  to  remind  us  of  Wordsworth,  whose  arbitrary 
classification  of  his  works  is  familiar  to  all.  Both  the 
early  and  the  later  writings  of  Buchanan  show  that 
much  of  his  tutelage  came  from  a  youthful  study  of 
the  bard  of  Rydal  Mount,  and  he  thus  took  a  bent 
in  a  direction  quite  separate  from  that  of  the  modern 
art-school.  What  he  gained  in  freedom  he  lost  in 
reserve,  acquiring  Wordsworth's  gravest  fault,  —  the 
habit  of  versifying  every  thought  that  comes  to  mind. 
A  useful  mission  of  the  art-school  has  been  to  correct 
this  tendency.  Like  Wordsworth,  also,  Buchanan  is 
a  natural  sonneteer  and  idyllist,  and  he  resembles  the 
whole  Lake  school  in  the  Orphic  utterance  of  his 
opinions  upon  half  the  questions  that  fill  the  air. 
Hence  some  notable  mistakes  and  beliefs,  subject 
to  revision ;  hence,  also,  ill-conceived  and  spasmodic 
work,  like  the  "  Napoleon  Fallen  "  and  "  The  Drama 
of  Kings,"  of  which  I  believe  that  only  a  select 
portion  has  been  retained  in  a  new  edition  of  this 
author's  works. 

Thus  Robert  Buchanan  is  one  of  the  least  restrained 
and  most  unequal  of  the  younger  poets  ;  yet  he  is  to 
be  placed  by  himself  on  the  ground  of  his  decided 


His  writ 
ings. 


Influence 
of  Words 
worth  and 
the  Lake 
school. 


An  isolated 
position. 


348 


ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


"  Under 
tones"  1860. 


"  Idyls  and 
Legends  of 
Inverbitrn" 
1865. 


purpose  and  originality.  What  he  lacks  is  the  faculty 
of  restraint.  Stimulated,  it  may  be,  by  his  quick  suc 
cess,  he  has  printed  a  great  quantity  of  verse  since 
the  day,  fourteen  years  ago,  when  David  Gray  and 
himself  first  started  for  London.  That  portion  which 
is  most  carefully  finished  is,  also,  the  freshest  and 
most  original  j  showing  either  that  in  his  case  the 
labor  lima  is  not  thrown  away,  or  else  that,  if  the 
ruggedness  of  certain  pieces  is  its  result,  he  should 
have  left  them  as  they  came  from  his  brain.  Of 
course  his  early  efforts  were  experiments  in  verse 
rather  than  new  and  sweet  pipings  of  his  own.  Under 
tones  consisted  chiefly  of  classical  studies,  —  a  kind  of 
work,  I  should  say,  apart  from  his  natural  turn,  and 
in  which  he  was  not  very  successful.  We  do  not 
find  the  true  classical  spirit  in  "  Pan,"  nor  in  "  The 
Last  Song  of  Apollo,"  good  as  both  these  pieces  are 
in  a  certain  way.  "  Polypheme's  Passion,"  imitated 
from  Euripides  and  Theocritus,  is  nearer  the  mark. 
The  strength,  precision,  and  beauty  of  the  antique 
are  what  evade  him.  After  Keats,  Landor,  Tennyson, 
and  Arnold,  his  classicism  is  no  real  addition  to  work 
of  this  kind  in  English  poetry. 

Five  years  later  his  Scottish  idyls  and  legends 
showed  the  touch  and  feeling  of  the  real  poet. 
They  introduced  us  to  scenes  and  language  before 
almost  unstudied,  and  were  affecting,  truthful,  and 
picturesque.  His  songs  of  Lowland  superstition  are 
light  with  fancy,  and  sometimes  musical  as  the  chim 
ing  of  glass  bells.  The  Inverburn  tales,  in  rhymed- 
heroic  and  blank  verse,  were  rightly  named  idyls. 
They  are  exquisite  pictures  of  humble  life,  more  full 
of  dialogue  and  incident  than  Wordsworth's,  broader 
in  treatment  than  Tennyson's ;  in  short,  composed  in 


A   FAITHFUL  POET  OF  NATURE. 


349 


their  author's  own  style,  and  transcripts  of  the  man 
ners  and  landscape  which  he  best  knew.  Few  poems 
have  more  fairly  deserved  their  welcome  than  "  Willie 
Baird,"  "Poet  Andrew,"  "John"  ("The  English  Hus 
wife's  Gossip  "),  and  "  The  Widow  Mysie."  Buchanan 
justly  may  be  pronounced  the  most  faithful  poet  of 
Nature  among  the  new  men.  He  is  her  familiar,  and 
in  this  respect  it  would  seem  as  if  the  mantle  of  Words 
worth  had  fallen  to  him  from  some  fine  sunset  or  misty 
height.  He  knows  the  country  with  that  knowledge 
which  is  gained  only  in  youth.  Like  an  American 
poet,  and  like  no  British  poet  save  himself,  he  knows 
the  hills  and  valleys,  the  woods  and  rippling  trout- 
streams.  An  artist  is  apt  to  underrate  his  special  gift. 
Buchanan  is  said  to  place  more  value  upon  his  town- 
poems  ;  yet  they  do  not  affect  us  as  these  rural  studies 
do,  and  the  persons  he  best  describes  are  those  found 
in  bucolic  life.  His  four  "  Pastoral  Pictures "  rank 
with  the  pastorals  of  Bryant  and  Wordsworth  in  being 
so  imaginative  as  to  have  the  charm  of  more  dramatic 
poems.  "  A  Summer  Pool  "  and  "  Up  the  River  "  are 
full  of  excellence.  The  following  lines,  taken  almost 
at  random,  show  what  poetic  beauty  can  be  reached 
in  purely  descriptive  verse  :  — 

"The  anvils  hotter, here.     The  bee  booms  by 
With  honey-laden  thigh, 
Doubttrfg  the  heat  with  sounds  akin  to  heat ; 

And  like  a  floating  flower  the  butterfly 
Swims  upward,  downward,  till  its  feet 
Cling  to  the  hedge-rows  white  and  sweet. 

The  sunlight  fades  on  mossy  rocks, 
And  on  the  mountain-sides  the  flocks 

Are  spilt  like  streams; — the  highway  dips 
Down,  narrowing  to  the  path  where  lambs 


Fidelity  to 
Nature. 


Pastoral 
verse. 


350 


ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


Lay  to  the  udders  of  their  dams 

Their  soft  and  pulpy  lips. 
The  hills  grow  closer;  to  the  right 
The  path  sweeps  round  a  shadowy  bay, 
Upon  whose  slated  fringes  white 
And  crested  wavelets  play. 
All  else  is  still.     But  list,  O  list! 
Hidden  by  bowlders  and  by  mist, 
A  shepherd  whistles  in  his  fist ; 
From  height  to  height  the  far  sheep  bleat 
In  answering  iteration  sweet. 
Sound,  seeking  Silence,  bends  above  her, 
Within  some  haunted  mountain  grot; 
Kisses  her,  like  a  trembling  lover, — 
So  that  she  stirs  in  sleep,  but  wakens  not!" 

As  a  writer  of  Scottish  idyls,  Buchanan  was  strictly 
within  his  limitations,  and  secure  from  rivalry.  There 
is  no  dispute  concerning  a  specialist,  but  a  host  will 
rebuke  the  claims  of  one  who  aims  at  universal  suc 
cess,  and  would  fain,  like  the  hard-handed  man  of 
Athens,  play  all  parts  at  once.  The  young  poet,  how 
ever,  having  so  well  availed  himself  of  these  home- 
scenes,  certainly  had  warrant  for  attempting  other 
labors  than  those  of  a  mere  genre  painter  in  verse. 
He  took  from  the  city  various  subjects  for  his  maturer 
work,  treating  these  and  his  North-coast  pictures  in 
a  more  realistic  fashion,  discarding  adornment,  and 
letting  his  art  teach  its  lesson  by  fidelity  to  actual 
life.  A  series  of  the  lighter  city-poems,  suggested  by 
early  experiences  in  town,  and  entitled  "London  Lyr 
ics"  in  the  edition  of  1874' is  not  in  any  way  remark 
able.  The  lines  "  To  the  Luggie  "  are  a  more  poetical 
tribute  to  his  comrade,  Gray,  than  is  the  lyric  "  To 
David  in  Heaven."  For  poems  of  a  later  date  he 
made  studies  from  the  poor  of  London  and  it  required 
some  courage  to  set  before  his  comfortable  readers 


1 LONDON  POEMS: 


the  wretchedness  of  the  lowest  classes,  —  to  introduce 
their  woful  phantoms  at  the  poetic  feast.  "  Nell " 
and  "  Liz "  have  the  unquestionable  power  of  truth ; 
they  are  faithfully,  even  painfully,  realistic.  The  metre 
is  purposely  irregular,  that  nothing  may  cramp  the 
language  or  blur  the  scene.  "Nell"  —  the  plaint  of 
a  creature  whose  husband  has  just  been  hanged  for 
murder,  and  who,  over  the  corpse  of  her  still-born 
babe,  tells  the  story  of  her  misery  and  devotion  —  is 
stronger  than  its  companion-piece ;  but  each  is  the 
striking  expression  of  a  woman's  anguish  put  in  rug 
ged  and  impressive  verse.  "  Meg  Blane,"  among  the 
North-coast  pieces,  is  Buchanan's  longest  example  of 
a  similar  method  applied  to  a  rural  theme.  I  do  him 
no  wrong  by  not  quoting  from  any  one  of  these  pro 
ductions,  whose  force  lies  in  their  general  effect,  and 
which  are  composed  in  a  manner  directly  opposite  to 
that  of  the  elaborate  modern  school. 

As  a  presentment  of  something  new  and  strong, 
these  are  remarkable  poems.  Nevertheless,  and  grant 
ing  that  propagandism  is  a  legitimate  mission  of  art, 
does  not  that  poetry  teach  the  most  effectually  which 
is  the  most  attractive  to  a  poet's  audience  ?  Have 
the  great  evangelists  kept  their  hearers  in  an  exalted 
state  of  anguish  without  frequent  intermissions  of 
relief  ?  Hogarth,  in  his  realistic  pictures  of  low  life, 
followed  nature,  and  made  their  wretchedness  endur 
able  by  seizing  upon  every  humorous  or  grotesque 
point  that  could  be  made.  "Nell,"  "Liz,"  and  "Meg 
Blane  "  harrow  us  from  first  to  last ;  there  is  no  re 
mission, —  the  poet  is  inexorable;  the  pain  is  contin 
uous  ;  we  are  willing  to  accept  these  lessons,  but 
would  be  spared  from  others  of  the  same  cast. 

Better   as   a   poem,    more    tempting   in    its   graphic 


Their  mer 
its  and  de 
fects. 


352 


ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


A  beautiful 
idyl. 


"  The  Book 
of  Onn" 
1870. 


pictures  of  coast-life  and  brave  sailorly  forms,  more 
pathetic  as  a  narrative,  and  told  in  verse  at  once 
sturdier  and  more  sweet,  is  that  dramatic  and  beauti 
ful  idyl,  "The  Scairth  o'  Bartle,"  in  which  we  find  a 
union  of  naturalism  and  realism  at  their  best.  The 
lesson  is  just  as  impressive  as  that  of  "  Meg  Blane," 
and  the  verse — how  tender  and  strong!  I  think  that 
other  poets,  of  the  rhetorical  sort,  might  have  written 
the  one,  while  Buchanan  alone  could  have  so  ren 
dered  the  Scottish-sailor  dialect  of  the  other,  and 
have  given  to  its  changeful  scenery  and  detail  those 
fine  effects  which  warrant  us  in  placing  "The  Scairth 
o'  Bartle "  at  the  high-water  mark  of  the  author's 
North-coast  poems. 

Among  other  realistic  studies,  "Edward  Crowhurst " 
and  "  Jane  Lawson  "  will  repay  attention.  That  this 
poet  has  humor  of  the  Tam-o'-Shanter  kind  is  shown 
in  the  racy  sketch  of  Widow  Mysie,  and  by  the  Eng 
lish  and  Scottish  Eclogues.  He  also  has  done  good 
work  after  Browning's  lighter  manner,  of  which  "  De 
Berny  "  (a  life-like  study  of  a  French  refugee  in 
London)  and  "  Kitty  Kemble  "  may  be  taken  as  ex 
amples.  The  latter,  by  its  flowing  satire,  reminds  us 
of  Swift,  but  is  mellowed  with  the  kindness  and  char 
ity  which  redeem  from  cynicism  the  wit  of  a  true 
poet.  The  ease  and  grace  of  these  two  poems  are 
very  noticeable. 

It  is  in  another  direction  that  Buchanan  has  made 
his  decided  revolt  against  the  modes  and  canons  of 
the  period.  The  Book  of  Orm  invites  us  to  a  spirit 
ual  region,  where  fact  and  materialism  cannot  hamper 
his  imaginings.  To  many  it  will  seem  that,  in  tak 
ing  metaphysics  with  him,  he  but  exchanges  one  set 
of  hindrances  for  another.  It  is  a  natural  outcome 


THE  BOOK  OF  ORM? 


353 


of  his  Scottish  genius  that  he  should  find  himself 
discussing  the  nature  of  evil,  and  applying  mysticism 
to  the  old  theological  problems.  The  "  Book  "  itself 
is  hard  to  describe,  being  a  study  of  the  meaning  of 
good  and  evil,  as  observed  through  a  kind  of  Celtic 
haze  j  and  even  the  author,  to  explain  his  own  pur 
pose,  resorts  to  the  language  of  a  friendly  critic,  who 
pronounces  it  "a  striking  attempt  to  combine  a  quasi- 
Ossianic  treatment  of  nature  with  a  philosophy  of 
rebellion  rising  into  something  like  a  Pantheistic 
vision  of  the  necessity  of  evil."  The  poet  himself 
adds  that  to  him  its  whole  scope  is  "to  vindicate  the 
ways  of  God  to  Man  \_sic\"  He  thus  brings  the 
great  instance  of  Milton  to  sustain  his  propagandism, 
but  while  poetry,  written  with  such  intent,  may  be 
sensuous,  and  often  is  passionate,  it  never  can  be 
entirely  simple.  The  world  has  well  agreed  that 
what  is  fine  in  "  Paradise  Lost  "  is  the  poetry ;  what 
is  tiresome,  the  theology;  yet  the  latter  certainly  fur 
nished  the  motive  of  England's  greatest  epic.  In 
adopting  a  theme  which,  after  all,  is  didactics  under 
a  spiritual  glamour,  Buchanan  has  chosen  a  distinc 
tive  ground.  The  question  is,  What  sort  of  art  is  the 
result?  Inevitably  a  strange  mixture  of  poetry  and 
prose,  —  the  relative  proportions  varying  with  the  flow 
of  the  poet's  imagination.  "  The  Book  of  Orm  "  is 
largely  made  up  of  vague  aspiration,  rhetoric,  padded 
and  unsatisfactory  verse.  It  contains,  withal,  very 
fine  poetry,  of  which  one  or  two  specimens  are  as 
good  as  anything  the  author  has  composed.  A  por 
tion  of  the  work  has  a  trace  of  the  weird  quality  to 
be  found  in  nearly  all  of  Blake's  pictures,  and  in  most 
of  his  verse.  The  "  Soul  and  Flesh,"  the  "  Flower  of 
the  World,"  and  the  "Drinkers  of  Hemlock"  are  thus 


Transcen 
dental  and 
lacking  sim- 
plicity; 


but  fine  here 
and  there. 


354 


ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


"Napoleon 
Fallen"  and 
the  "Drama 
of  Kings" 
1871. 


characterized.  Two  episodes  are  prominent  among 
the  rest.  "The  Dream  of  the  World  without  Death" 
is  a  strong  and  effective  poem  :  a  vision  of  the  time 
when 

"There  were  no  kisses  on  familiar  faces, 
No  weaving  of  white  grave-clothes,  no  lost  pondering 
Over  the  still  wax  cheeks  and  folded  fingers. 

"There  was  no  putting  tokens  under  pillows, 
There  was  no  dreadful  beauty  slowly  fading, 
Fading  like  moonlight  softly  into  darkness. 

"There  were  no  churchyard  paths  to  walk  on,  thinking 
How  near  the  well-beloved  ones  are  lying. 
There  were  no  sweet  green  graves  to  sit  and  muse  on, 

"  Till  grief  should  grow  a  summer  meditation, 
The  shadow  of  the  passing  of  an  angel, 
And  sleeping  should  seem  easy,  and  not  cruel. 

"Nothing  but  wondrous  parting  and  a  blankness." 

Of  a  still  higher  order  is  "  The  Vision  of  the  Man 
Accurst,"  which  is  marked  by  fine  imagination,  though 
conceits  and  artificial  phrases  somewhat  lessen  its 
effect.  It  seems  to  me  the  poet's  strongest  produc 
tion  thus  far,  and  holds  among  his  mystical  pieces 
the  position  of  "  The  Scairth  o'  Bartle  "  among  the 
Scottish  tales. 

In  applying  the  Orphic  method  to  contemporary 
politics  he  makes  a  failure  akin  to  that  of  Shelley 
in  "The  Revolt  of  Islam."  Having  perceived  the 
weakness  of  his  poems  upon  the  Franco-German  war, 
they  now  reappear  to  us  under  new  titles,  and  largely 
pruned  or  otherwise  remodelled.  Much  of  the  politi 
cal  verse  is  written  in 
to  his  narrative  style. 


a  mouthing    manner,  inferior 
The   aspiration   of    Shelley's 


HIS   VERSATILITY. 


355 


writings  doubtless  went  far  to  sustain  the  melody 
that  renders  them  so  exquisite.  Whatever  Buchanan's 
mission  may  be,  it  detracts  from,  rather  than  en 
hances,  his  genius  as  a  poet  In  reformatory  lyrics 
and  sonnets  he  does  not  rise  so  very  far  above  the 
level  of  Massey  and  other  spasmodic  rhymesters.  An 
American,  living  in  a  country  where  every  mechanic 
is  the  peer  of  Buchanan  as  a  reformer,  and  where 
poetry  is  considerably  scarcer  than  "  progress,"  is 
likely  to  care  not  so  much  for  a  singer's  theories  as 
for  the  quality  of  his  song. 

Buchanan's  versatility,  and  desire  to  obtain  a  hear 
ing  in  every  province  of  his  art,  have  impelled  him 
to  some  curious  ventures,  among  which  are  two  ro 
mantic  volumes  upon  American  themes,  published 
anonymously,  but  now  acknowledged  as  his  own.  St. 
Abe  and  White  Rose  and  Red  have  been  commended 
for  fidelity  of  local  color  and  diction,  but  readers  to 
the  manner  born  will  assure  the  author  that  he  has 
succeeded  only  in  being  faithful  to  a  British  ideal  of 
American  frontier  life.  To  compensate  us,  we  have 
some  thin  poetry  in  his  Maine  romance,  while  in  the 
Salt  Lake  extravaganza  I  can  find  none  at  all.  His 
critical  prose-writings  are  marked  by  eloquence  and 
vigor,  but  those  of  a  polemical  order  have,  I  should 
opine,  entailed  upon  him  more  vexation  than  profit. 
He  is  said  to  figure  creditably  as  a  playwright,  "The 
Witch-Finder "  and  "  The  Madcap  Prince "  having 
met  with  success  upon  the  London  stage. 

As  a  result  of  his  impulse  to  handle  every  theme 
that  occurs  to  him,  and  to  essay  all  varieties  of  style, 
much  of  his  poetry,  even  after  the  winnowing  to 
which  it  has  been  subjected,  is  not  free  from  sterile 
and  prosaic  chaff.  A  lesser  fault  is  the  custom  of 


356 


ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


handicapping  his  pieces  with  affected  preludes,  and 
his  volumes  with  metrical  statements  of  their  purpose, 
—  barbarisms  taken  from  a  period  when  people  did 
not  clearly  see  that  Art  must  stand  without  crutches. 
Occasionally  a  theme  which  he  selects,  such  as  the 
description  from  Heine's  "Reisebilder"  of  the  vanish 
ing  of  the  old  gods,  is  more  of  a  poem  than  any 
verses  that  can  be  set  to  it.  Nor  do  we  care  for 
such  an  excess  of  self-annunciation  as  is  found  in 
the  prelude  to  "  Bexhill."  Faults  of  style  are  less 
common,  yet  he  does  not  wholly  escape  the  affecta 
tions  of  a  school  with  which  he  is  in  open  conflict. 
Still,  he  can  be  artistic  to  a  degree  not  exceeded  in 
the  most  careful  poetry  of  his  time.  "  The  Ballad  of 
Judas  Iscariot,"  which  he  has  done  well  to  place  at 
the  opening  of  his  collection,  is  equal  in  finish  to 
anything  written  since  "The  Rime  of  the  Ancient 
Manner,"  and  approaches  that  poem  in  weird  impres- 
siveness  and  power.  Among  his  sonnets,  those  of 
the  Coruisken  series,  sustained  by  lofty  feeling  and 
noble  diction,  are  without  doubt  the  best. 

In  conclusion,  it  would  appear  that  his  work  of  the 
last  five  years  is  not  an  advance  upon  his  Scottish 
idyls,  and  that  a  natural  and  charming  poet  has  been 
retarded  by  conceiving  an  undue  sense  of  his  inspi 
ration  as  a  seer,  a  mystic,  a  prophet  of  the  future. 
Moreover,  like  Southey,  Buchanan  has  somewhat  too 
carefully  nursed  his  reputation.  The  sibyls  confided 
their  leaves  to  the  winds,  and  knew  that  nothing 
which  the  gods  thought  worth  preserving  could  be 
effaced  by  the  wanton  storm.  His  merits  lie  in  his 
originality,  earnestness,  and  admirable  understanding 
of  nature,  in  freedom  of  style  and  strength  of  gen 
eral  effect.  His  best  poetry  grows  upon  the  reader. 


DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 


357 


He  still  is  young,  scarcely  having  begun  the  mature 
creative  period,  and,  if  he  will  study  the  graces  of 
restraint,  and  cling  to  some  department  of  art  in 
which  he  is  easily  foremost,  should  not  fail  of  a  new 
and  still  more  successful  career. 


III. 

ROSSETTI  is  one  of  those  men  whose  significant 
position  is  not  so  much  due  to  the  amount  of  work 
which  they  produce  as  to  its  quality,  and  to  the  prin 
ciples  it  has  suggested.  Such  leaders  often  are  found, 
and  influence  contemporary  thought  by  the  personal 
magnetism  that  attracts  young  and  eager  spirits  to 
gather  around  them.  Sometimes  a  man  of  this  kind, 
in  respect  to  creative  labor,  is  greater  than  his  pro 
ductions.  But  if  Rossetti's  special  attitude  has  been 
of  more  account  than  his  poetry,  it  is  not  because 
he  lacks  the  power  to  equalize  the  two.  He  has 
chosen  to  give  his  energies  to  a  kindred  art  of  ex 
pression,  for  which  his  genius  is  no  less  decided. 
Yet  his  influence  as  a  poet,  judging  from  his  writ 
ings,  and  from  even  a  meagre  knowledge  of  his  life 
and  associates,  seems  to  be  radical  and  more  or  less 
enduring. 

A  stream  broadens  as  it  flows.  Already,  in  the 
careers  of  Morris  and  Swinburne,  we  see  the  forms 
of  extension  through  which  the  indestructibility  of 
nature  is  secured  for  a  specific  mode  of  art.  The 
instinct  is  not  so  far  wrong  which  connects  these 
poets  with  Rossetti,  and  calls  the  circle  by  his  name. 
Three  men  could  not  be  more  independent  of  one 
another  in  their  essential  gifts ;  yet  there  is  some 
common  chain  between  them  to  which  the  clew  most 


Dante  Ga 
briel  Ros- 
setti:  1828- 


His  distinc 
tive  force 
and  attitude. 


Comrades 
in  art. 


358 


DANTE   GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 


Recent  poe 
try  and  the 
arts  of  de 
sign. 


Pre-Raph- 
aelitism :  its 
use  and 
abuse. 


likely  was  obtained  first  by  Rossetti,  —  he  being  the 
eldest,  and  the  first  to  seize  it  in  his  search  after 
beauty's  underlying  laws.  It  is  true  that  Morris,  a 
comrade  near  his  own  age,  dedicated  a  book  of  poe 
try  to  him  long  before  the  artist  had  compiled  a 
volume  of  his  own  poems ;  nevertheless,  we  gather 
the  idea  that  the  conversation  and  presence  of  Ros 
setti  had  a  formative  influence  upon  the  author  of 
"The  Earthly  Paradise,"  as  well  as  upon  that  younger 
singer  whose  dramatic  genius  already  has  half  deter 
mined  what  is  to  be  the  poetic  tendency  of  the  era 
now  beginning.  We  turn  to  the  young  for  confirma 
tion  of  our  views  with  regard  to  the  immediate  out 
look  ;  for  it  is  the  privilege  of  youth  to  discern  the 
freshest  and  most  potential  style.  A  prophetic  sen 
sitiveness,  wiser  than  the  dulled  experience  of  age, 
unites  it  to  the  party  of  the  future. 

Since  the  master  treatise  of  Lessing  there  has  been 
no  question  of  the  impassable  barriers  betwixt  the 
provinces  of  the  artist  and  the  poet.  Poetry,  however, 
furnishes  themes  to  the  painter ;  and  of  late,  painting, 
through  study  of  elemental  processes,  has  enriched 
the  field  of  poetry,  —  to  which  Rossetti's  contribution 
is  the  latest,  if  not  the  greatest,  and  has  the  charm  of 
something  rare  that  is  brought  to  us  from  another 
land.  He  was  an  early  member  of  the  Pre-Raphaelite 
brotherhood  in  painting,  Millais  and  Holman  Hunt 
being  his  most  famous  associates.  He  also  has  had 
some  connection  with  Morris  in  the  decorative  art 
work  to  which  the  latter  has  been  so  enviably  de 
voted.  \The  element  which  Rossetti's  verse  and  bear 
ing  have  brought  into  English  poetry  holds  to  that 
art  the  relation  of  Pre-Raphaelite  painting  and  deco 
ration  to  painting  and  decoration  of  the  academic 


PRE-RAPHAELITISM. 


359 


kind.  As  a  figure-painter,  his  drawings,  such  as  I 
have  seen,  are  far  above  the  strictly  realistic  work 
produced  by  acolytes  of  his  order.  The  term  real 
ism  constantly  is  used  to  cloak  the  mediocrity  of 
artists  whose  designs  are  stiff,  barren,  and  grotesque, 
—  the  form  without  the  soul.  They  deal  with  the 
minor  facts  of  art,  unable  to  compass  the  major ;  their 
labor  is  scarcely  useful  as  a  stepping-stone  to  higher 
things ;  if  it  were  not  so  unimaginative,  it  would  have 
more  value  as  a  protest  against  conventionalism  and 
a  guide  to  something  new.  But  Rossetti,  a  man  of 
genius,  has  lighted  his  canvas  and  his  pages  with  a 
quality  that  is  more  ennobling.  He  has  discerned 
the  spirit  of  beauty,  wandering  within  the  confines  of 
a  region  whose  landscape  is  visible,  not  to  ground 
lings,  but  to  the  poet's  finer  sight.  Even  his  strictly 
Pre-Raphaelite  verse,  odd  and  weird  as-  it  may  at  first 
appear,  is  full  of  exaltation  and  lyrical  power. 

Such  of  his  ballads  as  recall  the  Troubadour  period 
are  no  more  realistic  than  the  ballads  of  the  idyllic 
poets.  They  are  studies  of  what  the  Pre-Chaucerian 
minstrels  saw,  and  partly  result  from  use  of  their 
materials.  However  rich  and  rare,  they  hold,  in  the 
youth  of  the  new  movement,  no  more  advanced  posi 
tion  than  that  of  Tennyson's  "Oriana"  and  "The 
Lady  of  Shalott "  compared  with  his  epic  and  philo 
sophic  masterpieces.  This  point  is  worth  considera 
tion.  The  Laureate's  work  of  this  kind  was  an  effort, 
in  default  of  natural  themes,  to  borrow  something 
from  that  old  Romantic  art  which  so  long  has  passed 
away  as  again  to  have  the  effect  of  newness. 

Much  of  Rossetti's  verse  is  of  this  sort,  yet  possess 
ing  a  quality  which  shows  that  his  genius,  if  fully  ex 
ercised,  might  lead  him  to  far  greater  achievements 


Genius  of 
Rossetti. 


, 


DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTL 


Transla 
tions  from 
"The  Early 
Italian 
Poets." 


"Poems," 
1870. 


as  an  English  poet.  Consecrated,  from  his  Italian 
parentage,  to  learning,  art,  and  song,  —  reared  in  a 
household  over  which  the  mediaeval  spirit  has  brooded, 
—  he  is  thoroughly  at  home  among  romantic  themes 
and  processes,  while  a  feeling  like  that  of  Dante  exalts 
the  maturer  portion  of  his  emblematic  verse. 

In  fact,  he  made  his  first  appearance  as  a  writer 
with  a  volume  of  translations,  —  The  Early  Italian 
Poets,  published  in  1861.  In  the  new  edition  (1874), 
entitled  "  Dante  and  his  Circle,  with  the  Italian  Poets 
preceding  him,"  more  stress  is  laid  upon  the  arrange 
ment  of  the  book.  Dante,  through  the  "  Vita  Nuova  " 
and  many  lyrics  associated  with  his  friends,  is  made 
the  luminous  central  figure  of  a  group  of  poets  who 
shine  partly  by  their  own  and  partly  by  reflected 
light.  Sonnets,  lyrics,  and  canzonets  are  given  also 
from  more  than  forty  additional  writers,  chiefly  of  an 
earlier  date,  and  the  whole  volume  is  edited  with 
patient  learning  and  religious  care.  The  time  and 
poetry  are  elucidated  with  a  fidelity  and  beauty  not 
to  be  found  in  any  English  or  Continental  essays  in 
the  same  field.  An  exquisite  spirit  possesses  the 
workman  and  the  work.  An  Anglo-Italian,  he  has  a 
double  nature,  like  that  of  the  enchanter  who  under 
stood  the  speech  of  birds.  Whatever  original  work  he 
might  have  produced  with  the  same  labor,  it  hardly 
could  be  a  greater  addition  to  our  literature  than  this 
admirable  transcript  of  Italy's  most  suggestive  period 
and  song. 

Rossetti's  own  poems  are  collected  in  a  single  vol 
ume.  Twoscore  ballads,  songs,  and  studies,  with 
thrice  that  number  of  sonnets,  make  up  its  contents ; 
but  there  are  not  a  few  to  maintain  that  here  we 
have  "infinite  riches  in  a  little  room."  A  reviewer 


HIS  COLLECTED  POEMS. 


361 


is  grateful  to  one  who  waits  for  songs  that  sing  them 
selves,  and  does  not  force  us  to  examine  long  cantos 
for  a  satisfactory  estimate  of  his  power.  Some  of 
these  poems  were  composed  years  ago,  but  the  author 
does  not  specify  them,  "  as  nothing  has  been  included 
which  he  believes  to  be  immature."  Conscientious 
ness  is  a  feature  of  this  artist's  work.  A  poet  is  not 
to  be  measured  by  the  quantity  of  his  outpourings ;  if 
otherwise,  what  of  Keats  or  Collins,  and  what  of 
Southey  and  Young? 

In  this  collection,  then,  I  find  no  verse  so  realistic 
as  to  be  unimaginative ;  but  I  do  find  a  quaint  use 
of  old  phraseology,  and  a  revival  of  the  early  rhyth 
mical  accents.  The  result  is  a  not  unpleasant  man 
nerism,  of  a  kind  that  is  visible  in  the  poetry  of 
Morris  and  Swinburne,  and  also  crops  out  frequently 
in  recent  miscellaneous  verse.  Besides  enriching,  like 
Tennyson,  our  modern  English  by  the  revival  of  obso 
lete  yet  effective  Saxon  and  Norman  words,  Rossetti 
adds  to  its  flexibility  by  novel  inversions  and  accent 
ual  endings.  With  regard  to  the  diction,  it  should 
be  noted  that  such  forms  as  "herseemed,"  though 
here  in  keeping,  would  be  unendurable  in  the  verse 
of  an  imitator.  Throughout  his  poetry  we  discern  a 
finesse,  a  regard  for  detail,  and  a  knowledge  of  color 
and  sound,  that  distinguish  this  master  of  the  Neo- 
Romantic  school.  His  end  is  gained  by  simplicity 
and  sure  precision  of  touch.  He  knows  exactly  what 
effect  he  desires,  and  produces  it  by  a  firm  stroke  of 
color,  a  beam  of  light,  a  single  musical  tone.  Herein 
he  surpasses  his  comrades,  and  exhibits  great  tact 
in  preferring  only  the  best  of  a  dozen  graces  which 
either  of  them  would  introduce.  In  terseness  he  cer 
tainly  is  before  them  all. 
16 


Style  and 
language. 


Precision 
of  touch. 


362 


DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTL 


An  earnest  \ 
and  spirit-  V 
nal  artist. 


We  must  accept  a  true  poet  for  what  he  is,  and  be  ] 
thankful.  Rossetti  is  not  the  man  to  attract  a  dul 
lard.  His  quaintness  must  seem  to  many  as  "  out 
landish  "  as  the  speech  and  garments  of  Christian  and 
Faithful  among  the  worldlings  of  Vanity  Fair ;  and 
he  is  so  indifferent  to  its  outlandishness  that  some 
may  deem  him  wanting  in  sense  and  humor.  But 
he  is  too  earnest,  too  absorbed  in  his  own  vision  of 
things  spiritual  and  lovely,  to  look  at  matters  from  the 
common  point  of  view.  To  one  willing  to  share  his 
feeling,  and  apt  to  recognize  the  inspiration  of  Diirer, 
or  William  Blake,  or  John  La  Farge,  the  effect  is  not 
to  be  gainsaid.  The  strangeness  passes  away  with 
a  study  of  his  poems.  Yielding  to  their  melody  and 
illumination,  we  are  bathed  in  the  rich  colors  of  an 
abbey-window  and  listen  to  the  music  of  choristers 
chanting  from  some  skyey,  hidden  loft. 

The  melody  is  indisputably  fine,  —  whether  from  the 
lips  of  the  transfigured  maiden,  of  whom  he  tells  us 
that,  when 

"She  spoke  through  the  still  weather, 
Her  voice  was  like  the  voice  the  stars 
Had  when  they  sang  together"; 

or  the  witch-music  of  Lilith,  the  wife  of  Adam  :  — 

"  Not  a  drop  of  her  blood  was  human, 
But  she  was  made  like  a  soft,  sweet  woman." 

It  is  difficult,  however,  to  separate  a  single  tone 
from  the  current  harmony.  Light  and  color  are  worthy 
of  the  music  :  — 

"  Her  eyes  were  deeper  than  the  depth 

Of  waters  stilled  at  even ; 
She  had  three  lilies  in  her  hand, 
And  the  stars  in  her  hair  were  seven." 


THE  BLESSED  DAMOZEL? 


363 


"  Her  hair,  that  lay  along  her  back, 
Was  yellow,  like  ripe  corn." 

—  "The  clear-ranged  unnumbered  heads 
Bowed  with  their  aureoles." 

—  "She  ceased. 

The  light  thrilled  toward  her,  rilled 
With  angels  in  strong  level  flight." 

Of  Rossetti's  lyrics  in  the  Gothic  or  Romantic  form, 
"  The  Blessed  Damozel,"  from  which  I  quote,  is  most 
widely  known,  and  deserves  its  reputation.  Nothing, 
save  great  originality  and  beauty,  could  win  us  over 
to  its  peculiar  manner. 


It  is  full  of  imagination :  — 


"  Herseemed  she  scarce  had  been  a  day 

One  of  God's  choristers  ; 
The  wonder  was  not  yet  quite  gone 
From  that  still  look  of  hers"; 

"And  the  souls  mounting  up  to  God 
Went  by  her  like  thin  flames." 

"I'll  take  his  hand  and  go  with  him 

To  the  deep  wells  of  light, — 
We  will  step  down  as  to  a  stream, 
And  bathe  there  in  God's  sight." 

The  spell  of  this  poem,  I  think,  lies  in  the  feeling 
that  even  in  heaven  the  maiden,  as  on  earth,  is  so 
real,  so  living,  that 

"her  bosom  must  have  made 
The  bar  she  leaned  on  warm "  ; 

and  that  her  terrestrial  love  and  yearning  are  more 
to  her  than  all  the  joys  of  Paradise.  The  poet, 
moreover,  in  this  brief,  wild  lyric,  seems  to  have 
conceived,  like  Dante,  an  apotheosis  of  some  buried 


"  The  Bless 
ed  Damo 
zel.'" 


3^4 


DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTL 


Ballads. 


Miscellane 
ous  poems. 


Transla 
tions  from 
the  French. 


mistress,  —  regarded,  it  may  be,  with  worship,  but  no 
less  with  immortal  passion  and  desire. 

In  three  mediaeval  ballads  of  another  class  there 
is  lyrical  and  dramatic  power.  I  refer  to  "Troy 
Town,"  "  Eden  Bower,"  and  "  Sister  Helen."  These, 
with  "Stratton  Water"  and  "The  Staff  and  Scrip," 
probably  are  as  characteristic  and  successful  as  any 
late  revival  of  the  ballad  forms. 

"  A  Last  Confession  "  is  a  tragical  Italian  story,  in 
blank-verse,  not  unlike  what  Browning  —  leaving  out 
Rossetti's  Italian  song  —  might  write  upon  a  similar 
theme.  "  Dante  at  Verona "  is  a  grave  and  earnest 
poem,  sustained  with  dignity  throughout,  yet  I  prefer 
Dr.  Parsons's  lines  "  On  a  Bust  of  Dante,"  —  that 
majestic  lyric,  the  noblest  of  tributes  to  the  great 
Florentine  in  our  own  or  any  other  tongue.  At  the 
opposite  extreme,  and  in  a  vein  that  differs  from 
Rossetti's  other  works,  we  have  a  curious  and  vivid 
piece  of  realism  entitled  "Jenny."  The  poet  moral 
izes,  with  equal  taste  and  feeling,  and  much  pictu- 
resqueness,  over  a  beautiful  but  ignorant  girl  of  the 
town,  who  no  more  than  a  child  is  aware  of  the 
train  of  thought  she  has  inspired.  A  striking  passage 
upon  lust  is  specially  effective  and  poetical. 

I  have  said  that  as  an  Italian  translator  Rossetti  is 
unsurpassed,  and  he  is  nearly  as  fine  in  renderings 
from  the  old  French,  of  which  both  Swinburne  and 
himself  have  made  enthusiastic  studies.  Witness  a 
stanza  from  "  The  Ballad  of  Dead  Ladies,"  Francois 
Villon,  1450.  The  translator's  inherent  quaintness  is 
suited  to  his  task  :  — 


:  Tell  me  now  in  what  hidden  way  is 
Lady  Flora  the  lovely  Roman? 


HIS  MELODY  AND  IMAGINATION. 


365 


Where  's  Hipparchia,  and  where  is  Thais, 

Neither  of  them  the  fairer  woman  ? 

Where  is  Echo,  beheld  of  no  man, 
Only  heard  on  river  and  mere, — 

She  whose  beauty  was  more  than  human  ?  .  .  .  . 
But  where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year  ? " 

His  lyrical  faculty  is  exquisite  ;  not  often  swift,  but 
chaste,  and  purely  English.  "  The  Song  of  the 
Bower,"  a  most  tuneful  love-chant,  reminding  us  of 
George  Darley,  is  a  good  specimen  of  his  melody, 
while  "  The  Stream's  Secret "  has  more  music  in  it 
than  any  slow  lyric  that  I  now  remember.  Dramatic 
power  is  indicated  by  true  lyrical  genius,  and  we  are 
not  surprised  to  find  Rossetti's  poems  surcharged 
with  it.  As  a  sonneteer,  also,  he  has  no  living  equal. 
Take  the  group  written  for  pictures  and  read  the 
sonnet  of  "Mary  Magdalene."  It  is  a  complete  dra 
matic  poem.  The  series  belonging  to  "The  House 
of  Life,"  in  finish,  spontaneity,  and  richness  of  feel 
ing,  is  such  as  this  man  alone  can  produce.  Mrs. 
Browning's  sonnets  were  the  deathless  revelation  of 
her  own  beautiful  soul  ;  if  these  are  more  objective, 
they  are  equally  perfect  in  another  way.  Finally,  the 
imagination  to  which  I  have  alluded  is  rarely  absent 
from  Rossetti's  verse.  His  touches  now  are  delicate, 
and  again  have  a  broad  sweep  :  — 

"As  though  mine  image  in  the  glass 
Should  tarry  when  myself  am  gone." 

"  How  then  should  sound  upon  Life's  darkening  slope, 
The  ground-whirl  of  the  perished  leaves  of  Hope, 
The  wind  of  Death's  imperishable  wing  ? " 

In  measuring  his  career  as  a  poet,  we  at  once  per 
ceive  that  he  has  moved  in  a  somewhat  narrow  range 
with  respect  to  both  the  thought  and  method  of  his 


Melody. 


Rossetti's 
sonnets. 


Imagina 
tion. 


A  spects  of 
his  poetry 
and  career. 


366 


,    WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


A  n  artist  of 
the  beautiful. 


compositions ;  but  that  he  approaches  Tennyson  in 
simplicity,  purity,  and  richness  of  tone.  His  dramatic 
and  lyrical  powers  are  very  marked,  though  not  fully 
developed  \  if  he  had  been  restricted  to  verse  as  a 
means  of  expression,  he  no  doubt  would  have  added 
greatly  to  our  English  song.  Sonnets  like  the  "  Bri 
dal  Birth  "  and  "  Nuptial  Sleep,"  and  poems  so  pro 
foundly  thoughtful  as  "  The  Sea-Limits  "  and  "  The 
Woodspurge,"  place  him  among  his  foremost  contem 
poraries.  He  has  had  a  magnetic  influence  upon 
those  who  come  within  his  aureole.  Should  he  com 
plete  "  The  House  of  Life "  upon  its  original  pro 
jection,  he  will  leave  a  monument  of  beauty  more 
lasting  than  the  tradition  of  his  presence.  His  verse 
is  compact  of  tenderness,  emotional  ecstasy,  and  po 
etic  fire.  The  spirit  of  the  master  whose  name  he 
bears  clothes  him  as  with  a  white  garment.  And  we 
should  expect  his  associates  to  be  humble  lovers  of 
the  beautiful,  first  of  all,  and  through  its  ministry  to 
rise  to  the  lustrous  upper  heaven  of  spiritual  art. 


IV. 

IT  is  but  natural,  then,  that  we  should  find  in 
William  Morris  a  poet  who  may  be  described,  to  use 
the  phrase  of  Hawthorne,  as  an  Artist  of  the  Beautiful. 
He  delights  in  the  manifestation  of  objective  beauty. 
Byron  felt  himself  one  with  Nature.  Morris  is  ab 
sorbed  in  the  loveliness  of  his  romantic  work,  and 
as  an  artist  seems  to  find  enchantment  and  content. 

In  this  serenity  of  mood  he  possesses  that  which 
has  been  denied  to  greater  poets.  True,  he  sings  of 
himself, 


AN  ARTIST  OF  THE  BEAUTIFUL. 


367 


"  Dreamer  of  dreams,  born  out  of  my  due  time, 
Why  should  I  strive  to  set  the  crooked  straight?" 

but  what  time  could  be  to  him  more  fortunate  ? 
Amid  the  problems  of  our  day,  and  the  uncertainty 
as  to  what  kind  of  art  is  to  result  from  its  confused 
elements,  there  is  at  least  repose  in  the  enjoyment  of 
absolute  beauty.  There  is  safety  in  an  art  without  a 
purpose  other  than  to  refresh  and  charm.  People 
who  labor  in  "  six  counties  overhung  with  smoke " 
are  willing  enough  to  forget  them.  Morris's  proffer 
of  the  means  to  this  end  could  not  have  been  more 
timely.  Keats  had  juster  cause  for  dissatisfaction : 
he  could  not  know  how  eagerly  men  would  turn  to 
his  work  when  the  grandiloquent  period,  in  which  he 
found  himself  so  valueless,  should  have  worn  itself 
away.  Besides,  he  never  fairly  attained  his  ideal. 
To  him  the  pursuit  of  Beauty,  rather  than  the  pos 
session,  was  a  passion  and  an  appetite.  He  followed 
after,  and  depicted  her,  but  was  not  at  rest  in  her 
presence.  Had  Keats  lived,  —  had  he  lived  to  gain 
the  feeling  of  Morris,  to  pass  from  aspiration  to  at 
tainment,  and  had  his  delicious  poems  been  succeeded 
by  others,  comparing  with  "Isabella"  and  "The  Eve 
of  St.  Agnes,"  as  "The  Earthly  Paradise"  compares 
with  "  The  Defence  of  Guenevere,"  then  indeed  the 
world  would  have  listened  to  a  singer 

"Such  as  it  had 
In  the  ages  glad, 
Long  ago ! " 

Morris  appears  to  have  been  devoted  from  youth 
to  the  service  of  the  beautiful.  He  has  followed 
more  than  one  branch  of  art,  and  enjoys,  besides  his 
fame  as  a  poet,  a  practical  reputation  as  an  original 


Morris  and 
Keats. 


368 


WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


and  graceful  designer  in  decorative  work  of  many 
kinds.  The  present  era,  like  the  Venetian,  and  others 
in  which  taste  has  sprung  from  the  luxury  of  wealth, 
seems  to  breed  a  class  of  handicraftsmen  who  are 
adepts  in  various  departments  of  creative  art.  Ros- 
setti,  Morris,  Linton,  Scott,  Woolner,  Hamerton,  among 
others,  follow  the  arts  of  song  or  of  design  at  will. 
Doubtless  the  poet  Morris,  while  making  his  unique 
drawings  for  stained  glass,  wall-paper,  or  decorative 
tile-work,  finds  a  pleasure  as  keen  as  that  of  the 
artist  Morris  in  the  construction  of  his  metrical  ro 
mances.  There  is  balm  and  recreation  to  any  writer 
in  some  tasteful  pursuit  which  may  serve  as  a  foil  to 
that  which  is  the  main  labor  and  highest  purpose  of 
his  life. 

As  for  his  poetry,  it  is  of  a  sort  which  must  be 
delightful  to  construct :  wholly  removed  from  self, 
breeding  neither  anguish  nor  disquiet,  but  full  of  soft 
music  and  a  familiar  olden  charm.  So  easeful  to  read, 
it  cannot  be  unrestful  to  compose,  and  to  the  maker 
must  be  its  own  reward.  He  keeps  within  his  self- 
allotted  region;  if  it  be  that  of  a  lotos-eater's  dream, 
he  is  willing  to  be  deluded,  and  no  longing  for  the 
real  makes  him  "half  sick  of  shadows."  In  this  re 
spect  he  is  a  wise,  sweet,  and  very  fortunate  bard. 

Some  years  ago,  judging  of  Morris  by  The  Defence 
of  Guenevere,  and  Other  Poems ,  the  only  volume  which 
he  then  had  printed,  I  wrote  of  him  :  "  Never  a  slov 
enly  writer,  he  gives  us  pieces  that  repay  close  reading, 
but  also  compel  it,  for  they  smack  of  the  closet  and 
studio  rather  than  of  the  world  of  men  and  women, 
or  that  of  the  woods  and  fields.  He,  too,  sings  the 
deeds  of  Arthur  and  Lancelot."  Let  me  now  say  that 
there  is  no  purer  or  fresher  landscape,  more  clearly 


THE  DEFENCE   OF  GUENEVERE? 


369 


visible  both  to  the  author  and  the  reader,  than  is  to 
be  found  everywhere  in  the  course  of  Morris's  later 
volumes.  Not  only  are  his  descriptions  of  every  as 
pect  of  Nature  perfect,  but  he  enters  fully  into  the 
effect  produced  by  her  changes  upon  our  lives  and 
feelings.  He  sings  of  June, 

"  And  that  desire  that  rippling  water  gives 
To  youthful  hearts  to  wander  anywhere  "  ; 

of  the  drowsy  August  languor, 

"When  men  were  happy,  they  could  scarce  tell  why, 
Although  they  felt  the  rich  year  slipping  by." 

A  thousand  similar  examples  may  be  selected  from 
his  poems.  But  his  first  work  was  quite  in  sympathy 
with  that  of  Rossetti :  an  effort  to  disconnect  poetry 
from  modern  thought  and  purpose,  through  a  return 
not  so  much  to  nature  as  to  models  taken  from  the 
age  of  ballad-romance.  It  was  saturated  with  the 
Pre-Chaucerian  spirit.  In  mediaeval  tone,  color,  and 
somewhat  rigid  drawing,  it  corresponded  to  the  missal- 
work  style  of  the  Pre-Raphaelites  in  art.  The  manner 
was  too  studied  to  permit  of  swift  movement  or  broad 
scope  ;  the  language  somewhat  ancient  and  obscure. 
There  is  much  that  is  fine,  however,  in  the  plumed 
and  heroic  ballad,  "  Riding  Together,"  and  "  The 
Haystack  in  the  Flood "  is  a  powerful  conception, 
wrought  out  with  historic  truth  of  detail  and  grim 
dramatic  effect. 

These  thirty  poems,  fitly  inscribed  to  Rossetti,  made 
up  a  work  whose  value  somewhat  depended  upon  its 
promise  for  the  future.  The  true  Pre-Raphaelite  is 
willing  to  bury  his  own  name  in  order  to  serve  his 
art ;  to  spend  a  life,  if  need  be,  in  laying  the  ground- 
16*  x 


Pre-Chau 
cerian  bal 
lads. 


370 


WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


wall  upon  which  his  successors  can  build  a  new  tem 
ple  that  shall  replace  the  time-worn  structure  he  has 
helped  to  tear  away.  But,  to  a  man  of  genius,  the 
higher  service  often  is  given  later  in  his  own  career. 
Morris's  second  volume  showed  that  he  had  left 
the  shadows  of  ballad  minstrelsy,  and  entered  the 
pleasant  sunlight  of  Chaucer.  After  seven  years  of 
silence  The  Life  and  Death  of  Jason  was  a  surprise, 
and  was  welcomed  as  the  sustained  performance  of 
a  true  poet.  It  is  a  narrative  poem,  of  epic  propor 
tions,  all  story  and  action,  composed  in  the  rhymed 
pentameter,  strongly  and  sweetly  carried  from  the 
first  book  to  the  last  of  seventeen.  In  this  produc 
tion,  as  in  all  the  works  of  Morris,  —  in  some  respects 
the  most  notable  raconteur  since  the  time  of  his 
avowed  master,  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  —  the  statement  is 
newly  illustrated,  that  imaginative  poets  do  not  invent 
their  own  legends,  but  are  wise  in  taking  them  from 
those  historic  treasuries  of  fact  and  fiction,  the  out 
lines  of  which  await  only  a  master-hand  to  invest  them 
with  living  beauty.  The  invention  of  "Jason,"  for 
instance,  does  not  consist  in  the  story  of  the  Golden 
Fleece,  but  in  new  effects  of  combination,  and  in  the 
melody  and  vigor  of  the  means  by  which  these  old 
adventurous  Greeks  again  are  made  to  voyage,  sing, 
love,  fight,  and  die  before  us.  Its  author  has  a  close 
knowledge  of  antiquities.  Here  and  there  his  method 
is  borrowed  from  Homer, — as  in  the  gathering  of  the 
chiefs,  which  occupies  the  third  book.  Octosyllabic 
songs  are  interspersed,  such  as  that  of  Orpheus, 


O  bitter  sea,  tumultuous  sea, 

Full  many  an  ill  is  wrought  by  thee  ! " 


after  which, 


THE  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  JASON: 


371 


"Then  shouted  all  the  heroes,  and  they  drove 
The  good  ship  forth,  so  that  the  birds  above, 
With  long  white  wings,  scarce  flew  so  fast  as  they." 

These  three  lines  convey  an  idea  of  the  general  dic 
tion  ;  nor  can  any  be  selected  from  the  ten  thousand 
which  compose  the  work  that  do  not  show  how  well 
our  Saxon  English  is  adapted  for  the  transmission  of 
the  Homeric  spirit.  The  poem  is  fresh  and  stirring, 
and  the  style  befits  the  theme,  though  not  free  from 
harshness  and  careless  rhymes  \  moreover,  it  must  be 
confessed  that  the  reader  often  grows  weary  of  the 
prolonged  tale.  This  is  an  Odyssean  epic,  but  written 
with  continuity  of  effort ;  not  growing  of  itself  with 
the  growth  of  a  nation,  nor  builded  at  long  intervals 
like  the  "  Idyls  of  the  King."  The  poet  lacks  variety. 
His  voice  is  in  a  single  key,  and,  although  it  be 
a  natural  one  that  does  not  tire  the  ear,  we  are  con 
tent  as  we  close  the  volume,  and  heave  a  sigh  of 
satisfied  appetite  rather  than  of  regret  that  the  enter 
tainment  has  reached  an  end. 

In  his  learned  taste  for  whatever  is  curious  and 
rare  Morris  has  made  researches  among  the  Sagas 
of  Norse  literature,  especially  those  of  Iceland.  The 
admirable  translations  which  he  made,  in  company 
with  E.  Magnusson,  from  the  Icelandic  Grettis  and 
Volsunga  Sagas,  show  how  thoroughly  every  class  of 
work  is  fashioned  by  his  hands,  and  illustrate  the 
wealth  of  the  resources  from  which  he  obtained  the 
conception  of  his  latest  poem.1  The  Story  of  Grettir 
the  Strong,  and  The  Story  of  the  Volsungs  and  Niblnngs, 


1  He  now  is  said  to  be  engaged  upon  a  lineal  and  literal 
translation  of  Virgil,  —  a  work  which  he  can  hardly  fail  to  exe 
cute  speedily  and  well. 


Transla 
tions  from 
the  Iceland 
ic,  1869. 


372 


WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


appeared  in  1869  ;  but  in  1868,  five  years  after  the 
completion  of  "Jason,"  the  public  had  been  delighted 
with  the  early  instalments  of  a  charming  production, 
which,  whatever  he  may  accomplish  hereafter,  fairly 
exhibits  his  powers  in  their  most  sustained  and  varied 
form. 

The  plan  of  The  Earthly  Paradise  was  conceived 
in  a  day  that  should  be  marked  with  a  white  stone, 
since  for  this  poet  to  undertake  it  was  to  complete 
it.  The  effort  was  so  sure  to  adjust  itself  to  his  genius 
(which  is  epic  rather  than  dramatic),  that  the  only 
question  was  one  of  time,  and  that  is  now  a  question 
of  the  past.  In  this  important  work  Morris  reaches 
the  height  of  his  success  as  a  relator.  His  poems 
always  have  been  stories.  Even  the  shortest  ballads 
in  his  first  book  are  upon  themes  from  the  old  chron 
icles.  "  The  Earthly  Paradise "  has  the  universe  of 
fiction  for  a  field,  and  reclothes  the  choicest  and  most 
famous  legends  of  Asia  and  Europe  with  the  delicate 
fabric  of  its  verse.  Greek  and  Oriental  lore,  the  tales 
of  the  Gesta  Romanorum,  the  romance  of  the  Nibe- 
lungen-Lied,  and  even  the  myths  of  the  Eddas,  con 
tribute  to  this  thesaurus  of  narrative  song.  All  these 
tales  are  familiar:  many  of  a  type  from  which  John 
Fiske  or  Miiller  would  prove  their  long  descent,  tra 
cing  them  far  as  the  "  most  eastern  East "  ;  but  never 
before  did  they  appear  in  more  attractive  shape,  or 
fall  so  musically  from  a  poet's  honeyed  mouth.  Their 
fascination  is  beyond  question.  We  listen  to  the 
narrator,  as  Arabs  before  the  desert  fire  hang  upon 
the  lips  of  one  who  recites  some  legend  of  the  good 
Haroun.  Here  is  a  successor  to  Boccaccio  and  to 
Chaucer.  The  verse,  indeed,  is  exclusively  Chauce 
rian,  of  which  three  styles  are  used,  the  heroic,  sestina, 


THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE: 


373 


and  octosyllabic.  Chance  quotations  show  with  what 
felicity  and  perfect  ease  the  modern  poet  renews  the 
cadences  of  his  master.  Take  one  from  "  Atalanta's 
Race":  — 

"Through  thick  Arcadian  woods  a  hunter  went, 
Following  the  beasts  up,  on  a  fresh  spring  day; 
But  since  his  horn-tipped  bow,  but  seldom  bent, 
Now  at  the  noontide  naught  had  happed  to  slay, 
Within  a  vale  he  called  his  hounds  away, 
Hearkening  the  echoes  of  his  lone  voice  cling 
About  the  cliffs,  and  through  the  beech-trees  ring." 

Another  from  "  The  Man  Born  to  be  King  "  :  — 

"  So  long  he  rode  he  drew  anigh 
A  mill  upon  the  river's  brim, 
That  seemed  a  goodly  place  to  him, 
For  o'er  the  oily,  smooth  millhead 
There  hung  the  apples  growing  red, 
And  many  an  ancient  apple-tree 
Within  the  orchard  could  he  see, 
While  the  smooth  millwalls,  white  and  black, 
Shook  to  the  great  wheel's  measured  clack, 
And  grumble  of  the  gear  within ; 
While  o'er  the  roof  that  dulled  that  din 
The  doves  sat  crooning  half  the  day, 
And  round  the  half-cut  stack  of  hay 
The  sparrows  fluttered  twittering." 

And  this,  from  "The  Story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche"  :— 

"From  place  to  place  Love  followed  her  that  day 
And  ever  fairer  to  his  eyes  she  grew, 
So  that  at  last  when  from  her  bower  she  flew, 
And  underneath  his  feet  the  moonlit  sea 
Went  shepherding  his  waves  disorderly, 
He  swore  that  of  all  gods  and  men,  no  one 
Should  hold  her  in  his  arms  but  he  alone." 

The  couplet  which  I  have  italicized  has  an  imagi- 


Threc  modes 
of  Chauce 
rian  verse. 


374 


WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


native  quality  not  frequent  in  Morris's  verse,  for  the 
excellence  of  this  poet  lies  rather  in  his  clear  vision 
and  exquisite  directness  of  speech.  Examples,  other 
wise  neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  foregoing,  may 
be  taken  from  any  one  of  the  sixteen  hundred  pages 
of  his  great  work.  I  can  give  but  the  briefest  state 
ment  of  its  method  and  range. 

In  each  of  these  metrical  forms  the  verse  is  smooth 
and  transparent,  —  the  choice  result  of  the  author's 
Chaucerian  studies,  with  what  addition  of  beauty  and 
suggestiveness  his  genius  can  bestow.  His  language 
is  so  pure  that  there  absolutely  is  no  resisting  medi 
um  to  obscure  the  interest  of  a  tale.  We  feel  that 
he  enjoys  his  story  as  we  do,  yet  the  technical  excel 
lence,  seen  at  once  by  a  writer,  scarcely  is  thought 
of  by  the  lay  reader,  to  whom  poetry  is  in  the  main 
addressed.  Morris  easily  grasps  the  feeling  of  each 
successive  literature  from  which  his  stories  are  de 
rived.  He  is  at  will  a  pagan,  a  Christian,  or  a  wor 
shipper  of  Odin  and  Thor;  and  especially  has  caught 
the  spirit  of  those  generations  which,  scarcely  emerged 
from  classicism  in  the  South,  and  bordered  by  hea 
thendom  on  the  North,  peopled  their  unhallowed 
places  with  beings  drawn  from  either  source.  Christ 
reigned,  yet  the  old  gods  had  not  wholly  faded  out, 
but  acted,  whether  fair  or  devilish,  as  subjects  and 
allies  of  Satan.  All  this  is  magically  conveyed  in 
such  poems  as  "The  Ring  given  to  Venus"  and 
"The  Lady  of  the  Land."  The  former  may  be  con 
sulted  (and  any  other  will  do  almost  as  well)  for  evi 
dence  of  the  advantage  possessed  by  Morris  through 
his  knowledge  of  mediaeval  costumes,  armor,  dances, 
festivals,  and  all  the  curious  paraphernalia  of  days 
gone  by.  So  well  equipped  a  virtuoso,  and  so  facile 


THE  EARTHLY  PARADISE: 


375 


a  rhythmist,  was  warranted  in  undertaking  to  write 
"The  Earthly  Paradise,"  broad  as  it  is  in  scope,  and 
extended  to  the  enormous  length  of  forty  thousand 
lines.  The  result  shows  that  he  set  himself  a  per 
fectly  feasible  task. 

In  this  work  he  avoids  the  prolonged  strain  of 
"  Jason,"  by  making,  with  few  exceptions,  each  story 
of  a  length  that  can  be  read  at  a  sitting.  His  har 
monic  turn  is  shown  in  the  arrangement  of  them  all 
under  the  signs  of  the  zodiac.  We  have  one  clas 
sical  and  one  mediaeval  legend  for  each  month  of 
the  year.  I  take  it  that  the  framework  of  the  whole, 
the  romance  of  voyagers  in  search  of  an  earthly 
Paradise,  is  familiar  to  the  reader.  While  Morris 
claims  Chaucer,  as  Dante  claimed  Virgil,  for  his 
master,  this  only  relates  to  the  purpose  and  form  of 
his  poetry,  for  the  freshness  and  sweetness  are  his 
own.  He  has  gone  to  Chaucer,  but  also  to  nature, 
—  to  the  earth  whence  sprang  that  well  of  English 
undefiled.  His  descriptive  preludes,  that  serenely 
paint  each  phase  of  the  revolving  year,  and  the 
scenic  touches  throughout  his  stories,  are  truthful  and 
picturesque.  He  uses  but  few  and  often-repeated  ad 
jectives;  like  the  early  rhapsodists,  once  having  chosen 
an  epithet  for  a  certain  thing,  he  clings  to  it,  never 
introducing,  for  novelty's  sake,  another  that  is  poorer 
than  the  best. 

Morris  fairly  escapes  from  our  turmoil  and  mate 
rialism  by  this  flight  to  the  refuge  of  amusement  and 
simple  art.  A  correlative  moral  runs  through  all  of 
his  poetry ;  one  which,  it  must  be  owned,  savors  of 
pagan  fatalism.  The  thought  conveyed  is  that  noth 
ing  should  concern  men  but  to  enjoy  what  hollow 
good  the  gods  award  us,  and  this  in  the  present,  be- 


A  tinge  of 
fatalism. 


376 


WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


fore  the  days  come  when  we  shall  say  we  have  no 
pleasure  in  them,  —  before  death  come,  which  closes 
all.  He  not  only  chooses  to  be  a  dreamer  of  dreams, 
and  will  not  "  strive  to  set  the  crooked  straight,"  but 
tells  us,  — 

"  Yes,  ye  are  made  immortal  on  the  day 
Ye  cease  the  dusty  grains  of  time  to  weigh " ; 

and  in  every  poem  has  some  passage  like  this :  — 

"  Fear  little,  then,  I  counsel  you, 
What  any  son  of  man  can  do ; 
Because  a  log  of  wood  will  last 
While  many  a  life  of  man  goes  past, 
And  all  is  over  in  slight  space." 

His  hoary  voyagers  have  toiled  and  wandered,  as  they 

find,  in  vain  :  — 

"Lo, 

A  long  life  gone,  and  nothing  more  they  know, 
Why  they  should  live  to  have  desire  and  foil, 
And  toil,  that,  overcome,  brings  yet  more  toil, 
Than  that  day  of  their  vanished  youth,  when  first 
They  saw  Death  clear,  and  deemed  all  life  accurst 
By  that  cold,  overshadowing  threat,  —  the  End." 

They  have  nothing  left  but  to  beguile  the  remnant  of 
their  hours  with  story  and  repose,  until  the  grave  shall 
be  reached,  in  which  there  is  neither  device,  nor  knowl 
edge,  nor  wisdom.  The  poet's  constant  injunction  is 
to  seize  the  day,  to  strive  not  for  greater  or  new 
things,  since  all  will  soon  be  over,  and  who  knoweth 
what  is  beyond  ?  In  his  epilogue  to  the  entire  work 
he  faithfully  epitomizes  its  spirit :  — 

"  Death  have  we  hated,  knowing  not  what  it  meant ; 
Life  have  we  loved,  through  green  leaf  and  through  sere, 
Though  still  the  less  we  knew  of  its  intent  : 
The  Earth  and  Heaven  through  countless  year  on  year, 


1  THE  EA  R  THL  Y  PA  RA  DISE? 


377 


Slow  changing,  were  to  us  but  curtains  fair, 
Hung  round  about  a  little  room,  where  play 
Weeping  and  laughter  of  man's  empty  day." 

This  tinge  of  fatalism  has  a  saddening  effect  upon 
Morris's  verse,  and  thus  far  lessens  its  charm.  A 
shadow  falls  across  the  feast.  One  of  his  critics  has 
well  said  that  "  A  poet,  in  this  age  of  the  world,  who 
would  be  immortal,  must  write  as  if  he  himself  be 
lieved  in  immortality."  His  personages,  moreover,  are 
phantasmal,  and  really  seem  as  if  they  issued  from  the 
ivory  gate.  Again,  while  his  latest  work  is  a  marvel 
of  prolonged  strength  and  industry,  its  length  gives 
it  somewhat  of  an  encyclopedic  character.  The  last 
volume  was  not  received  so  eagerly  as  the  first.  I 
would  not  quote  against  the  author  that  saying  of 
Callimachus,  "  a  great  book  is  a  great  evil " ;  never 
theless  we  feel  that  he  has  a  too  facile  power,  —  a 
story  once  given  him,  —  of  putting  it  into  rippling 
verse  as  rapidly  as  another  man  can  write  it  in  prose. 
Still,  "  The  Earthly  Paradise "  is  a  library  of  itself, 
and  in  yielding  to  its  spell  we  experience  anew  the 
delights  which  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  afforded  to  our 
childhood.  What  more  tempting  than  to  loll  in  such 
an  "  orchard-close  "  as  the  poet  is  wont  to  paint  for 
us,  and  —  with  clover  blooming  everywhere,  and  the 
robins  singing  about  their  nests  —  to  think  it  a  por 
tion  of  that  fairy-land  "  East  of  the  Sun  and  West  of 
the  Moon  " ;  or  to  read  the  fay-legends  of  "  The  Watch 
ing  of  the  Falcon  "  and  "  Ogier  the  Dane,"  or  that 
history  of  "  The  Lovers  of  Gudrun,"  which  possibly 
is  the  finest,  as  it  is  the  most  extended,  of  all  our 
author's  romantic  poems?  What  more  potent  spell 
to  banish  care  and  pain?  And  let  there  be  some 


Metrical 
facility. 


378 


WILLIAM  MORRIS. 


Sweet,  but 
unitnpas- 
sioned, 
measures. 


Relative 
Positions  of 
the  Neo- 
Romantic 


"  In  the  white -flowered  hawthorn  brake, 
Love,  be  merry  for  my  sake ; 
Twine  the  blossoms  in  my  hair, 
Kiss  me  where  I  am  most  fair,  — 
Kiss  me,  love !  for  who  knoweth 
What  thing  cometh  after  death?" 

We  have  seen  that  the  poetry  of  William  Morris  is 
thoroughly  sweet  and  wholesome,  fair  with  the  beauty 
of  green  fields  and  summer  skies,  and  pervaded  by  a 
restful  charm.  Yet  it  is  but  the  choicest  fashion  of 
romantic  narrative-verse.  The  poet's  imagination  is 
clear,  but  never  lofty;  he  never  will  rouse  the  soul 
to  elevated  thoughts  and  deeds.  His  low,  continuous 
music  reminds  us  of  those  Moorish  melodies  whose 
delicacy  and  pathos  come  from  the  gentle  hearts  of 
an  expiring  race,  and  seem  the  murmurous  echo  of 
strains  that  had  an  epic  glory  in  the  far-away  past. 
Readers  who  look  for  passion,  faith,  and  high  im 
aginings,  will  find  his  measures  cloying  in  the  end. 
Rossetti's  work  has  been  confined  to  Pre-Chaucerian 
minstrelsy,  and  to  the  spiritualism  of  the  early  Italian 
school.  Morris  advances  to  a  revival  of  the  narra 
tive  art  of  Chaucer.  The  next  effort,  to  complete  the 
cyclic  movement,  should  renew  the  fire  and  lyric  out 
burst  of  the  dramatic  poets.  Let  us  estimate  the 
promise  of  what  already  has  been  essayed  in  that 
direction ;  —  but  to  do  this  we  must  listen  to  the 
voice  of  the  youngest  and  most  impassioned  of  the 
group  that  stand  with  feet  planted  upon  the  outer 
circuit  of  the  Victorian  choir,  and  with  faces  looking 
eagerly  toward  the  future. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


LATTER-DAY   SINGERS. 


ALGERNON   CHARLES   SWINBURNE. 

TEN  years  have  passed  since  this  poet  took  the 
critical  outposts  by  storm,  and  with  a  single 
effort  gained  a  laurel-crown,  of  which  no  public  envy, 
nor  any  lesser  action  of  his  own,  thenceforth  could 
dispossess  him.  The  time  has  been  so  crowded  with 
his  successive  productions  —  his  career,  with  all  its 
strength  and  imprudence,  has  been  so  thoroughly  that 
of  a  poet  —  as  to  heighten  the  interest  which  only  a 
spirit  of  most  unusual  quality  can  excite  and  long 
maintain. 

We  have  just  observed  the  somewhat  limited  range 
of  William  Morris's  vocabulary.  It  is  composed  mainly 
of  plain  Saxon  words,  chosen  with  great  taste  and 
musically  put  together.  No  barrenness,  however,  is 
perceptible,  since  to  enrich  that  writer's  language 
from  learned  or  modern  sources  would  disturb  the 
tone  of  his  pure  English  feeling.  The  nature  of 
Swinburne's  diction  is  precisely  opposite.  His  faculty 
of  expression  is  so  brilliant  as  to  obscure  the  other 
elements  which  are  to  be  found  in  his  verse,  and 
constantly  to  lead  him  beyond  the  wisdom  of  art. 
Nevertheless,  reflecting  upon  his  genius  and  the 
chances  of  his  future,  it  is  difficult  for  any  one  to 
write  with  cold  restraint  who  has  an  eye  to  see,  an 


A  Igernon 
Charles 
Swinburne : 
born  in  Lon~ 
don,  Afril 
S.  1837. 


His  diction. 


380 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


His  surpris 
ing  com 
mand  of 
rhythm. 


ear  to  hear,  and  the  practice  which  forces  an  artist 
to  wonder  at  the  lustre,  the  melody,  the  unstinted 
fire  and  movement,  of  his  imperious  song. 


I. 

I  WISH,  then,  to  speak  at  some  length  upon  the  one 
faculty  in  which  Swinburne  excels  any  living  English 
poet  j  in  which  I  doubt  if  his  equal  has  existed 
among  recent  poets  of  any  tongue,  unless  Shelley  be 
excepted,  or,  possibly,  some  lyrist  of  the  modern 
French  school.  This  is  his  miraculous  gift  of  rhythm, 
his  command  over  the  unsuspected  resources  of  a 
language.  That  Shelley  had  a  like  power  is,  I  think, 
shown  in  passages  like  the  choruses  of  "  Prometheus 
Unbound,"  but  he  flourished  half  a  century  ago,  and 
did  not  have  (as  Swinburne  has)  Shelley  for  a  prede 
cessor  !  A  new  generation,  refining  upon  the  les 
sons  given  by  himself  and  Keats,  has  carried  the 
art  of  rhythm  to  extreme  variety  and  finish.  Were 
Shelley  to  have  a  second  career,  his  work,  if  no  finer 
in  single  passages,  would  have,  all  in  all,  a  range  of 
musical  variations  such  as  we  discover  in  Swinburne's. 
So  close  is  the  resemblance  in  quality  of  these  two 
voices,  however  great  the  difference  in  development, 
as  almost  to  justify  a  belief  in  metempsychosis.  A 
master  is  needed  to  awake  the  spirit  slumbering  in 
any  musical  instrument.  Before  the  advent  of  Swin 
burne  we  did  not  realize  the  full  scope  of  English 
verse.  In  his  hands  it  is  like  the  violin  of  Paganini. 
The  range  of  his  fantasias,  roulades,  arias,  new  effects 
of  measure  and  sound,  is  incomparable  with  anything 
hitherto  known.  The  first  emotion  of  one  who  studies 
even  his  immature  work  is  that  of  wonder  at  the 


HIS  COMMAND   OF  RHYTHM. 


381 


the/' 


freedom  and  richness  of  his  diction,  the  susurrus  of 
his  rhythm,  his  unconscious  alliterations,  the  endless 
change  of  his  syllabic  harmonies,  —  resulting  in 
alternate  softness  and  strength,  height  and  fall,  riot 
ous  or  chastened  music,  of  his  affluent  verse.  How 
does  he  produce  it?  Who  taught  him  all  the  hidden 
springs  of  melody?  He  was  born  a  tamer  of  words: 
a  subduer  of  this  most  stubborn,  yet  most  copious  of 
the  literary  tongues.  In  his  poetry  we  discover  qual 
ities  we  did  not  know  were  in  the  language,  —  a  soft 
ness  that  seemed  Italian,  a  rugged  strength  we  thought 
was  German,  a  blithe  and  debonair  lightness  we  de 
spaired  of  capturing  from  the  French.  He  has  added 
a  score  of  new  stops  and  pedals  to  the  instrument. 
He  has  introduced,  partly  from  other  tongues,  stanzaic 
forms,  measures  and  effects  untried  before  ;  and  has 
brought  out  the  swiftness  and  force  of  metres  like 
the  anapestic,  carrying  each  to  perfection  at  a  single 
trial.  Words  in  his  hands  are  like  the  ivory  balls  of 
a  juggler,  and  all  words  seem  to  be  in  his  hands. 
His  fellow- craftsmen,  who  alone  can  understand  what 
has  been  done  in  their  art,  will  not  term  this  state 
ment  extravagance.  Speaking  only  of  his  command 
over  language  and  metre,  I  have  a  right  to  reaffirm, 
and  to  show  by  many  illustrations,  that  he  is  the 
most  sovereign  of  rhythmists.  He  compels  the  in 
flexible  elements  to  his  use.  Chaucer  is  more  limpid, 
Shakespeare  more  kingly,  Milton  loftier  at  times, 
Byron  has  an  unaffected  power,  —  but  neither  Shelley 
nor  the  greatest  of  his  predecessors  is  so  dithyrambic, 
and  no  one  has  been  in  all  moocls  so  absolute  an 
autocrat  of  verse.  With  equal  gifts,  I  say,  none 
could  have  been,  for  Swinburne  comes  after  and  prof 
its  by  the  art  of  all.  Poets  often  win  distinction  by 


Unprece 
dented  mel~ 
ody  and 
rreedom. 


The  most 
dilhyrambic 
of  poets. 


382 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


Expression 
carried  to 
fatiguing 
excess. 


producing  work  that  differs  from  what  has  gone  be 
fore.  It  seems  as  if  Swinburne,  in  this  ripe  period, 
resolved  to  excel  others  by  a  mastery  of  known 
melodies,  adding  a  new  magic  to  each,  and  going 
beyond  the  range  of  the  farthest.  His  amazing  tricks 
of  rhythm  are  those  of  a  gymnast  outleaping  his 
fellows.  We  had  Keats,  Shelley,  and  Coleridge,  after 
Collins  and  Gray,  and  Tennyson  after  Keats,  but  now 
Swinburne  adds  such  elaboration,  that  an  art  which 
we  thought  perfected  seems  almost  tame.  In  the 
first  place,  he  was  born  a  prodigy,  —  as  much  so  as 
Morphy  in  chess ;  added  to  this  he  is  the  product  of 
these  latter  days,  a  phenomenon  impossible  before. 
It  is  safe  to  declare  that  at  last  a  time  has  come 
when  the  force  of  expression  can  no  further  go. 

I  do  not  say  that  it  has  not  gone  too  far.  The 
fruit  may  be,  and  here  is,  too  luscious ;  the  flower  is 
often  of  an  odor  too  intoxicating  to  endure.  Yet 
what  execution  !  Poetry,  the  rarest  poetic  feeling, 
may  be  found  in  simpler  verse.  Yet  again,  what  exe 
cution  !  The  voice  may  not  be  equal  to  the  grandest 
music,  nor  trained  and  restrained  as  it  should  be. 
But  the  voice  is  there,  and  its  possessor  has  the  finest 
natural  organ  to  which  this  generation  has  listened. 

Right  here  it  is  plain  that  Swinburne,  especially  in 
his  early  poems,  has  weakened  his  effects  by  cloying 
us  with  excessive  richness  of  epithet  and  sound :  in 
later  works,  by  too  elaborate  expression  and  redun 
dancy  of  treatment.  Still,  while  Browning's  amplifi 
cation  is  wont  to  be  harsh  and  obscure,  Swinburne, 
even  if  obscure,  or  when  the  thought  is  one  that  he 
has  repeated  again  and  again,  always  gives  us  unap 
proachable  melody  and  grace.  It  is  true  that  his  glo 
ries  of  speech  often  hang  upon  the  slightest  thread 


VOICE  AND  EXECUTION. 


383 


of  purpose.  He  so  constantly  wants  to  stop  and  sing 
that  he  gets  along  slowly  with  a  plot.  As  we  listen 
to  his  fascinating  music,  the  meaning,  like  the  libretto 
of  an  opera,  often  passes  out  of  mind.  The  melody 
is  unbroken :  in  this,  as  in  other  matters,  Swinburne's 
fault  is  that  of  excess.  He  does  not  frequently  admit 
the  sweet  discords,  of  which  he  is  a  master,  nor  re 
lieve  his  work  by  simple,  contrasting  interludes.  Un 
til  recently  his  voice  had  a  narrow  range;  its  effect 
resulted  from  changes  upon  a  few  notes.  The  rich 
ness  of  these  permutations  was  a  marvel,  yet  a  series 
of  them  blended  into  mannerism.  Shelley  could  be 
academic  at  times,  and  even  humorous ;  but  Swin 
burne's  monotone,  original  and  varied  within  its 
bounds,  was  thought  to  be  the  expression  of  a  limited 
range  of  feeling,  and  restricted  his  early  efforts  as  a 
dramatic  lyrist. 

The  question  first  asked,  with  regard  to  either  a 
poet  or  singer,  is,  Has  he  voice  ?  and  then,  Has  he 
execution  ?  We  have  lastly  to  measure  the  passion, 
imagination,  invention,  to  which  voice  and  method 
are  but  ministers.  From  the  quality  of  the  latter,  the 
style  being  the  man,  we  often  may  estimate  the  higher 
faculties  that  control  them.  The  principle  here  in 
volved  runs  through  all  the  arts  of  beauty  and  use 
A  fine  vocal  gift  is  priceless,  both  for  itself  and  for 
the  spiritual  force  behind  it.  With  this  preliminary 
stress  upon  Swinburne's  most  conspicuous  gift,  let  us 
briefly  examine  his  record,  bethinking  ourselves  how 
difficult  it  is  to  judge  a  poet  who  is  obscured  by  his 
own  excess  of  light,  and  whose  earlier  verses  so  cloyed 
the  mind  with  richness  as  to  deprive  it  of  the  judicial 
taste. 


Voice  and 
execution 
always 
essential. 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


Swinburne 
and  Landor. 


Early  dra 
mas:  pub- 
lisJied  in 
1861. 


An  Eliza 
bethan  man 
ner. 


II. 

THERE  is  a  resemblance,  both  of  temperament  and 
intellect,  between  Swinburne  and  what  is  known  of 
Landor  in  his  youth.  The  latter  remained  for  a  com 
paratively  brief  time  at  college,  but  the  younger  poet, 
like  the  elder,  was  a  natural  scholar  and  linguist. 
He  profited  largely  by  his  four  years  at  Oxford,  and 
the  five  at  Eton  which  preceded  them,  for  his  intuitive 
command  of  languages  is  so  unusual,  that  a  year  of 
his  study  must  be  worth  a  lustrum  of  other  men's, 
and  he  has  developed  this  gift  by  frequent  and  ex 
quisite  usage.  No  other  Englishman  has  been  so 
able  to  vary  his  effects  by  modes  drawn,  not  only 
from  classical  and  Oriental  literatures,  but  from  the 
haunting  beauty  of  mediaeval  song.  I  should  suppose 
him  to  be  as  familiar  with  French  verse,  from  Ron- 
sard  to  Hugo,  as  most  of  us  are  with  the  poetry  of 
our  own  language,  —  and  he  writes  either  in  Greek 
or  Latin,  old  and  new,  or  in  troubadour  French,  as 
if  his  thoughts  came  to  him  in  the  diction  for  the 
time  assumed.  No  really  admirable  work,  I  think, 
can  be  produced  in  a  foreign  tongue,  until  this  kind 
of  lingui- naturalization  has  been  attained. 

His  first  volume,  The  Queen  Mother  and  Rosamond, 
gave  him  no  reputation.  Possibly  it  was  unnoticed 
amid  the  mass  of  new  verse  offered  the  public.  We 
now  see  that  it  was  of  much  significance.  It  showed 
the  new  author  to  be  completely  unaffected  by  the 
current  idyllic  mode.  Not  a  trace  of  Tennyson ;  just 
a  trace,  on  the  other  hand,  of  Browning ;  above  all,  a 
true  dramatic  manner  of  the  poet's  own,  —  like  noth 
ing  modern,  but  recalling  the  cadences,  fire,  and  ac 
tion  of  England's  great  dramatic  period.  There  were 


THE   QUEEN  MOTHER'   AND  'ROSAMOND? 


385 


many  faults  of  construction,  but  also  very  strong  and 
beautiful  characterizations,  in  this  youth's  first  essays : 
a  manifest  living  in  his  personages  for  the  time ;  such 
fine  language  as  this,  in  "  Rosamond  "  :  — 

"  I  see  not  flesh  is  holier  than  flesh, 
Or  blood  than  blood  more  choicely  qualified 
That  scorn  should  live  between  them." 

And  this :  — 

"  I  that  have  roses  in  my  name,  and  make 
All  flowers  glad  to  set  their  color  by ; 
I  that  have  held  a  land  between  twin  lips 
And  turned  large  England  to  a  little  kiss ; 
God  thinks  not  of  me  as  contemptible." 

"  The  Queen  Mother "  (time  :  the  massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew)  is  a  longer  and  more  complex  tragedy 
than  that  from  which  the  foregoing  lines  are  taken. 
Catherine  de'  Medici  is  strongly  and  clearly  delineated, 
—  a  cruel,  relentless,  yet  imposing  figure.  The  style 
is  caught  from  Shakespeare,  as  if  the  youth's  pride 
of  intellect  would  let  him  go  no  lower  for  a  model. 
Study,  for  example,  the  language  of  Teligny,  Act  III., 
Scene  2 ;  and  that  of  Catherine,  Act  V.,  Scene  3, 
where  she  avows  that  if  God's  ministers  could  see 
what  she  was  about  to  do,  then 

"  Surely  the  wind  would  be  as  a  hard  fire, 
And  the  sea's  yellow  and  distempered  foam 
Displease  the  happy  heaven;     .... 

.     .     .     .     towers  and  popular  streets 

Should  in  the  middle  green  smother  and  drown, 

And  Havoc  die  with  fulness." 

In  another  scene  the  king  says  of  Denise :  — 
17  Y 


"Rosa 
mond." 


"  The  Queen 
Mother" 


386 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


"  Atalanta 

inCalydon" 

1864. 


"  Yea,  dead  ? 

She  is  all  white  to  the  dead  hair,  who  was 
So  full  of  gracious  rose  the  air  took  color, 
Turned  to  a  kiss  against  her  face." 

The  scene  in  which  Catherine  poisons  her  clown, 
and  the  whole  of  the  closing  portion  of  Act  V.,  are 
full  of  strength  and  spirit.  Scattered  through  the  two 
plays  are  some  of  the  curious  Latin,  old  French,  and 
old  English  lyrics  which  the  author  already  was  so 
deft  at  turning.  The  volume  was  inscribed  to  Rossetti. 
It  reveals  to  a  penetrative  eye  many  traits  of  the  gen 
ius  that  has  since  blazed  out  so  finely,  and  shows  the 
nature  of  Swinburne's  studies  and  associates.  The 
man  had  come  who  was  to  do  what  Browning  had 
failed  to  do  in  a  less  propitious  time,  and  make  a 
successful  diversion  from  the  idyllic  lead  of  Tennyson. 
The  body  of  recent  minor  verse  fully  displays  the 
swift  and  radical  character  of  the  change. 

Three  years  later  Swinburne  printed  his  classical 
tragedy,  Atalanta  in  Calydon?  Whatever  may  be  said 
of  the  genuineness  of  any  reproduction  of  the  antique, 
this  is  the  best  of  its  kind.  One  who  undertakes  such 
work  has  the  knowledge  that  his  theme  is  removed 
from  popular  sympathy,  and  must  be  content  with  a 
restricted  audience.  Swinburne  took  up  the  classical 
dramatic  form,  and  really  made  the  dry  bones  live,  — 
as  even  Landor  and  Arnold  had  not;  as  no  man  had, 
before  or  after  Shelley ;  that  is  to  say,  as  no  man 
has,  for  the  "  Prometheus  Unbound,"  grand  as  it  is, 
is  classical  only  in  some  of  its  personages  and  in  the 


1  During  this  time  he  also  had  written  "  Chastelard,"  but  held 
it  in  reserve  for  future  publication.  "Atalanta"  was  begun  on 
the  day  following  the  completion  of  the  last-named  poem. 


•ATALANTA   IN  CALYDON? 


/ 


3«7 




~" 


mythical  germ  of  its  conception,  —  a  sublimi/  poerii; 
full  of  absorbing  beauty,  but  antique  neither  in^irit 
nor  in  form.  "  Atalanta  "  is  upon  the  severest  Greek 
model,  that  of  ^Eschylus  or  Sophocles,  and  reads  like 
an  inspired  translation.  We  cannot  repeat  the  antique 
as  it  existed,  though  a  poem  may  be  better  or  worse. 
But  consider  the  nearness  of  this  success,  and  the 
very  great  poetry  involved. 

Poetry  and  all,  this  thing  has  for  once  been  done 
as  well  as  possible,  and  no  future  poet  can  safely  at 
tempt  to  rival  it.  "Atalanta"  is  Greek  in  unity 
and  simplicity,  not  only  in  the  technical  unities,  — 
utterly  disregarded  in  "Prometheus  Unbound,"  —  but 
in  maintenance  of  a  single  pervading  thought,  the  im 
possibility  of  resisting  the  inexorable  high  gods.  The 
hopeless  fatalism  of  this  tragedy  was  not  the  senti 
ment  of  the  joyous  and  reverential  Greeks,  but  reminds 
us  of  the  Hebrews,  whose  God  was  of  a  stern  and 
dreadful  type.  This  feeling,  expressed  in  much  of 
Swinburne's  early  verse,  is  the  outcome  of  a  haughty 
and  untamed  intellect  chafing  against  a  law  which  it^ 
cannot  resist.  Here  is  an  imperious  mind,  requiring 
years  of  discipline  and  achievement  to  bring  it  into 
that  harmony  with  its  conditions  through  which  we 
arrive  at  strength,  happiness,  repose. 

The  opening  invocation  of  the  Chief  Huntsman, 
with  its  majestic  verse  and  imagery,  alone  secures  the 
reader's  attention,  and  the  succeeding  chorus,  at  the 
height  of  Swinburne's  lyric  reach,  resolves  attention 
to  enchantment :  — 

"When  the  hounds  of  spring  are  on  winter's  traces, 

The  mother  of  months  in  meadow  or  plain 
Fills  the  shadows  and  windy  places 
With  lisp  of  leaves  and  ripple  of  rain ; 


English  re- 
prodtiction 
of  the  an 
tique. 


388 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


And  the  brown  bright  nightingale  amorous 
Is  hal£assuaged  for  Itylus, 
For  the  Thracian  ships  and  the  foreign  faces, 
The  tongueless  vigil,  and  all  the  pain." 

Read  this  divine  chorus,  and  three  others  equally 
perfect  of  their  kind,  deepening  in  grandeur  and  im- 
pressiveness  :  "  Before  the  beginning  of  years,"  "  We 
have  seen  thee,  O  Love,  thou  art  fair,"  "Who  hath 
given  man  speech?"  —  and  we  have  read  the  noblest 
verse  of  a  purely  lyric  order  that  has  appeared  since 
the  songs  and  choruses  of  the  "Prometheus."  How 
much  more  dithyrambic  than  the  unrhymed  measures 
of  Arnold !  Rhyme  is  free  as  the  air,  that  chartered 
libertine,  to  this  poet,  and  our  language  in  his  mouth 
becomes  not  only  as  strong,  but  as  musical,  as  the 
Greek.  The  choric  spirit  is  here,  however  inharmo 
nious  the  thought  that  God  is  the  "supreme  evil," 
covering  us  with  his  "  hate,"  or  the  conclusion  of  the 
whole  matter:  — 

"Who  shall  contend  with  his  lords, 

Or  cross  them  or  do  them  wrong? 
Who  shall  bind  them  as  with  cords  ? 

Who  shall  tame  them  as  with  song  ? 
Who  shall  smite  them  as  with  swords  ? 

For  the  hands  of  their  kingdom  are  strong." 

Finally,  the  conception  of  the  drama  is  large,  the 
imagination  clear,  elevated,  of  an  even  tone  through 
out.  The  herald's  account  of  the  hunt  is  finely  poetic. 
The  choric  responses  of  the  last  dialogue  form  a  reso 
nant  climax  to  the  whole.  As  a  work  of  art  it  still 
remains  the  poet's  flawless  effort,  showing  the  most 
objective  purpose  and  clarified  by  the  necessity  of 
restraint.  It  is  good  to  know  that  a  work  of  pure 
art  could  at  once  make  its  way.  It  appealed  to  a 


POEMS  AND  BALLADS: 


389 


select  audience,  but  the  verdict  of  the  few  was  so 
loud  and  instant  as  to  gain  for  "  Atalanta  "  a  popular 
reading, — especially  in  jude^  America,  with  her  strange, 
pathetic,  misunderstood  yearning  for  a  rightful  share 
of  the  culture  and  beauty  of  the  older  world. 

"  Chastelard "  appeared  in  the  ensuing  year ;  but 
as  I  wish  to  mention  this  poem  in  some  discussion  of 
the  larger  work  to  which  it  holds  the  relation  of  the 
first  division  of  a  trilogy,  and  of  Swinburne's  char 
acter  as  a  dramatist,  let  us  pass  to  the  miscellaneous 
productions  of  the  ten  years  intervening  between  "Ata 
lanta  "  and  "Bothwell." 


III. 

SWINBURNE'S  work  revived  the  interest  felt  in  poetry. 
His  power  was  so  evident  that  the  public  looked  to 
see  what  else  had  come  from  his  pen.  This  led  to 
the  collection,  under  the  title  of  Poems  and  Ballads, 
of  various  lyrical  pieces,  some  of  which  had  been 
contributed  to  the  serials,  while  others  now  were 
printed  for  the  first  time.  Without  fair  consideration, 
this  volume  was  taken  as  a  new  and  studied  work  of 
the  mature  poet,  and  there  was  much  astonishment 
over  its  contents.  Here  began  a  notable  literary  dis 
cussion.  If  unmeasured  praise  had  been  awarded  to 
Swinburne  for  the  chastity  and  beauty  of  "  Atalanta," 
he  now  was  made  to  feel  how  the  critical  breath  could 
shift  to  the  opposite  extreme  and  balance  its  early 
favor  with  reprehension  of  the  severest  kind.  Here 
was  a  series  of  wild  and  Gothic  pieces,  full  of  sensu 
ous  and  turbid  passion,  lavishing  a  prodigious  wealth 
of  music  and  imagery  upon  the  most  perilous  themes, 
and  treating  them  in  an  openly  defiant  manner. 


390 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


"Notes  on 
Poems  find 
Reviews" 

1866. 


A  literary 
antagonism. 


Sense  was  everywhere  exalted  above  spirituality ;  and 
to  them  who  did  not  consider  the  formative  nature  of 
the  book  and  the  dramatic  purpose  of  the  least  re 
strained  ballads,  it  seemed  as  if  the  young  author  was 
lusting  after  strange  gods,  and  had  plunged  into 
adoration  of  Venus  and  Priapus ;  or  that  he  had 
drunk  of  Circe's  goblet,  and  was  crowning  himself 
with  garlands  ere  his  transformation  into  one  of  the 
beasts  that  follow  in  her  train.  Rebukes  were  freely 
uttered,  —  indeed,  a  storm  of  denunciation  began. 
Friends  and  partisans  rushed  to  his  defence ;  and  at 
last  the  poet  spoke  for  himself,  with  no  doubtful  force 
of  satire  and  scorn,  in  reply  both  to  the  reviewers 
and  to  an  able  but  covert  attack  made  against  him 
by  a  rival  singer.  So  fierce  a  literary  antagonism  has 
not  been  known  since  the  contests  of  Byron  and  the 
Lake  school.  Of  course  it  gave  the  book  a  wide 
reading,  followed  by  a  marked  influence  upon  the 
style  of  fledgling  poets.  The  lyrics  were  reprinted  in 
America,  with  the  new  title  of  "  Laus  Veneris,"  — 
taken  from  the  opening  poem,  another  presentment 
of  the  Tannhauser  legend  that  has  bewitched  so 
many  of  the  recent  French  and  English  minstrels. 
The  author's  reputation,  hitherto  confined  to  the  ad 
mirers  of  "  Atalanta,"  now  extended  to  the  masses 
who  read  from  curiosity.  Some  were  content  to  rep 
rehend,  or  smack  their  lips  over  the  questionable 
portions  of  the  new  book  ;  but  many,  while  perceiv 
ing  the  crudeness  of  the  ruder  strains,  rejoiced  in 
the  lyrical  splendor  that  broke  out  here  and  there, 
and  welcomed  the  poet's  unique  additions  to  the 
metric  and  stanzaic  forms  of  English  verse. 

That    Swinburne   fairly   provoked   censure   he   must 
himself  have  been  aware,  if  he  cared  enough   about 


THE  POET  AND  HIS  CRITICS. 


391 


the  matter  to  reflect  at  all.  I  have  no  doubt  he  was 
astonished  at  its  vehemence,  and  in  truth  the  outcry 
of  the  moralists  may  have  been  overloud.  People  did 
not  see,  what  now  is  clear  enough,  that  these  poems 
and  ballads  represented  the  primal  stages  of  the 
poet's  growth.  Good  or  bad,  they  were  brought  to 
gether  and  frankly  given  to  the  public.  Doubtless, 
kwere  the  author  now  to  make  up  a  library  edition  of 
his  works,  there  are  several  of  these  pieces  he  would 
prefer  to  omit.  Of  what  writer  may  there  not  as 
much  be  said,  unless,  like  Rossetti,  he  has  lived  be 
yond  the  years  of  Byron  before  publishing  at  all  ? 
It  chances,  however,  that  certain  lyrics  which  we 
well  could  spare  on  account  of  their  unpleasant  sug 
gestions  are  among  the  most  beautiful  in  language 
and  form.  Others,  against  which  no  ethical  objec 
tions  can  lie,  are  weakened  by  the  author's  feeblest 
affectations.  All  young  poets  have  sins  to  answer 
for:  to  Swinburne  men  could  say,  as  Arthur  to  Guen- 
evere,  "  And  in  the  flesh  thou  hast  sinned !  "  so  mor 
bid  and  absurd  are  some  of  the  phrases  in  this 
collection.  Certainly  there  was  an  offence  against 
good  taste  and  discretion,  and,  if  some  of  the  poems 
were  open  to  the  interpretation  given  them,  an  offence 
of  a  more  serious  nature,  for  all  indecency  is  out 
lawed  of  art.  The  young  poet,  under  a  combination 
of  influences,  seems  to  have  had  a  marked  attack  of 
that  green-sickness  which  the  excited  and  untrained  im 
agination,  mistaking  its  own  fancies  for  experience, 
undergoes  before  gaining  strength  through  the  vigor 
of  healthy  passion,  mature  and  self-contained.  Still, 
there  are  those  who  can  more  easily  forgive  the  worst 
of  Swinburne's  youthful  antics  than  those  unconscious 
sins  of  commonplace,  plagiarism,  turgidity,  —  the  hun- 


Censure 
fairly  pro- 
voked,  b^^t 
too  vehe 
ment. 


The  volume 
an  out 
growth  of 
the  poet's 
formative 
period. 


392 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


The  "fer 
ment  of  new 
wine." 


Early 
Gothic 
studies. 


dred  weak   offences   that   are   pardoned   in   the   early 
verse  of  men  who  make  their  mark  as  poets. 

After  all,  "  Poems  and  Ballads  "  was  a  first  book, 
though  printed  later  than  "  Atalanta."  The  juvenile 
pieces  which  it  contained,  written  during  college  life, 
are  now  announced  for  removal  into  a  volume  of  ac 
knowledged  "  Early  Poems,"  including  also  the  dra 
mas  of  "  Rosamond  "  and  "  The  Queen  Mother."  But 
the  original  volume  is  of  great  interest,  because  it 
exhibits  the  germs  of  everything  for  which  the  author 
has  become  distinguished.  Its  spirit  is  that  of  un 
bounded  freedom,  of  resistance  to  an  established  ideal, 
—  for  Swinburne,  with  Shelley  and  kindred  poets,  has 
seen  that  finer  ideals  will  take  the  place  of  those  that 
are  set  aside.  Meantime,  in  advance  of  a  new  reve 
lation,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  expression  of  sensu 
ous,  even  riotous  beauty.  Unequal  as  they  are,  these 
lyrics  led  up  to  work  like  "  Atalanta,"  "  Songs  before.. 
Sunrise,"  and  "Bothwell."  They  were  the  ferment  of| 
the  heated  fancy,  and,  though  murky  and  unsettled, ! 
to  be  followed  by  clarity,  sweetness,  and  strength.; 
The  fault  of  the  book  is  excess.  This  poet,  extrava 
gant  in  spiritual  or  political  revolt,  in  disdain,  in 
dramatic  outbursts,  was  no  less  so  in  his  treatment 
of  sensuous  themes.  He  could  not  be  otherwise,  ex 
cept  when  restrained  by  his  artistic  conscience  in 
work  modelled  upon  accepted  forms. 

Among  the  earlier  lyrics  are  to  be  numbered,  I 
imagine,  those  mediaeval  studies  near  the  close  of  the 
volume  which  belong  to  the  same  class  with  much 
of  Rossetti's  and  Morris's  verse,  yet  never  could  be 
thought  to  come  from  any  hand  but  Swinburne's 
own.  Such  are  "  The  Masque  of  Queen  Bersabe " 
(a  miracle  play),  "A  Christmas  Carol,"  "St.  Dorothy," 


EARLY  LYRICS. 


393 


and  various  ballads,  —  besides  the  "  Laus  Veneris,"  to 
which  I  already  have  referred.  In  other  pieces  we 
discover  the  influence  which  French  art  and  litera 
ture  had  exerted  upon  the  author.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  round  of  French  minstrelsy  made  it  natural 
for  him  to  produce  a  kind  of  work  that  at  first  would 
not  be  relished  by  the  British  taste  and  ear.  The 
richness  of  the  foreign  qualities  brought  into  English 
verse  by  Swinburne  has  made  amends  for  a  passing 
phase  of  Gallic  sensualism.  What  now  crosses  the 
Channel  is  of  a  different  breed  from  the  stilted  for 
malism  of  Boileau.  With  the  rise  of  Hugo  and  the 
new  Romantic  school  came  freedom,  lyrical  melody, 
and  dramatic  fire.  Elsewhere  in  this  volume  we  note 
the  still  more  potential  Hebraic  influence.  "Aholi- 
bah"  is  closely  imitated  from  Hebrew  prophecy,  and 
"  A  Ballad  of  Burdens "  is  imbued  with  a  similar 
spirit,  reading  like  the  middle  choruses  in  "Atalanta." 
More  classical  studies,  "  Phaedra  "  and  "  At  Eleusis," 
approach  the  grade  of  Lander's  "  Hellenics."  The 
"  Hymn  to  Proserpine "  is  a  beautiful  and  noble 
poem,  dramatically  reviving  the  emotion  of  a  pagan 
who  chooses  to  die  with  his  gods,  and  musical  with 
cadences  which  this  poet  has  made  distinctly  his  own. 
"  Anactoria  "  and  "  Dolores,"  two  pieces  against  which 
special  objection  has  been  made,  exhibit  great  beauty 
of  treatment,  and  a  mystical  though  abnormal  feeling, 
and  are  quite  too  fine  to  lose.  The  author  holds 
them  to  be  dramatic  studies,  written  for  men  and  not 
for  babes,  and  connects  them  with  "The  Garden  of 
Proserpine "  and  "  Hesperia,"  in  order  to  illustrate 
the  transition  from  passion  to  satiety,  and  thence  to 
wisdom  and  repose.  The  little  sonnet,  "  A  Cameo," 
suggests  the  rationale  of  this  conception,  and  the 
17* 


394 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


latter,  I  may  add,  is  practically  illustrated  by  a  re 
view  of  Swinburne's  own  productions,  from  the  "  Poems 
and  Ballads"  up  to  "Bothwell." 

The  value  of  the  book  consists  in  its  fine  poetry, 
and  especially  in  the  structure  of  that  poetry,  so  full 
of  lyrical  revelations,  of  harmonies  unknown  before. 
Take  any  stanza  of  an  apostrophe  to  the  sea,  in 
"The  Triumph  of  Time":  — 

"  O  fair  green-girdled  mother  of  mine, 

Sea,  that  art  clothed  with  the  sun  and  the  rain, 
Thy  sweet  hard  kisses  are  strong  like  wine, 

Thy  large  embraces  are  keen  like  pain. 
Save  me  and  hide  me  with  all  thy  waves, 
Find  me  one  grave  of  thy  thousand  graves, 
Those  pure  cold  populous  graves  of  thine, 

Wrought  without  hand  in  a  world  without  stain." 

Or  take  any  couplet  from  "  Anactoria,"  that  musical 
and  fervent  poem,  whose  imagination  and  expression 
are  so  welded  together,  and  wherein  the  English 
heroic  verse  is  long  sustained  at  a  height  to  which 
it  rarely  has  ventured  to  aspire :  — 

"Yea,  thou  shalt  be  forgotten  like  spilt  wme, 
Except  these  kisses  of  my  lips  on  thine 
Brand  them  with  immortality ;   but  me  — 
Men  shall  not  see  bright  fire  nor  hear  the  sea, 
Nor  mix  their  hearts  with  music,  nor  behold 
Cast  forth  of  heaven  with  feet  of  awful  gold 
And  plumeless  wings  that  make  the  bright  air  blind, 
Lightning,  with  thunder  for  a  hound  behind 
Hunting  through  fields  unfurrowed  and  unsown, — 
But  in  the  light  and  laughter,  in  the  moan 
And  music,  and  in  grasp  of  lip  and  hand 
And  shudder  of  water  that  makes  felt  on  land 
The  immeasurable  tremor  of  all  the  sea, 
Memories  shall  mix  and  metaphors  of  me." 

A  certain  amount  of  such  writing  is  bold  and  fine. 


METRICAL    VARIATIONS. 


395 


I  The   public   knows,  however,  that   it   was   carried   by 
f  Swinburne   to   excess  ;   that   in   erotic  verse  a  confec- 
1  tion  of   luscious    and   cloying   epithets  was   presented 
again  and  again.    At  times  there  was  an  extravagance 
;  which  would  have  been  absent  if   this  poet,  who  has 
abundant  wit  and  satire,  had    also  then  had  a  hearty 
sense  of  humor,  and  which  he  himself  must  smile  at 
now.      But  go  further,  and  observe  his  original  hand 
ling  of  metres,  as  in  the  "  Hymn  to  Proserpine  " :  — 

"  Wilt  thou  yet  take  all,  Galilean  ?  but  these  thou  shalt  not  take, 
The  laurel,  the  palms,  and  the  paean,  the  breasts  of  the  nymphs 
in  the  brake"; 

and  in  "  Hesperia  "  :  — 

"Out  of  the  golden  remote  wild  west  where  the  sea  without 

shore  is, 

Full  of  the  sunset,  and  sad,  if  at  all,  with  the  fulness  of  joy, 
As  a  wind  sets  in  with  the  autumn  that  blows  from  the  region 

of  stories, 

Blows  with  a  perfume  of  songs  and  of  memories  beloved  from 
a  boy." 

Examine,  too,  the  remarkable  group  of  songs,  set  to 
melodies  so  fresh  and  novel :  among  others,  "  Dedi 
cation,"  "  The  Garden  of  Proserpine,"  "  Madonna 
Mia,"  "  Rococo,"  and  "  Before  Dawn."  If  these  have 
their  faults,  what  wrinkle  can  any  Sybarite  find  in 
such  a  rose-leaf  as  the  lyric  called  "  A  Match  "  :  — 

"  If  love  were  what  the  rose  is, 

And  I  were  like  the  leaf, 
Our  lives  would  grow  together 
In  sad  or  singing  weather, 
Blown  fields  or  flowerful  closes, 

Green  pleasure  or  gray  grief; 
If  love  were  what  the  rose  is, 

And  I  were  like  the  leaf." 


Unwhole 
some  and 
fantastic 
extrava 
gance, 


for  which 
•we  are  com 
pensated  by 
novel  and 
beautiful 
effects  of 
rhythm. 


396 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


The  tender  and  pious  stanzas  in  memory  of  Lan- 
dor  are  included  among  these  lyrics.  The  collection, 
after  we  have  noted  its  weaknesses,  extravagance,  lack 
of  technical  and  moral  restraint,  still  remains  the 
most  striking,  the  most  suggestive  volume  of  miscel 
laneous  poems  that  has  been  offered  by  any  poet  of 
the  younger  schools.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that 
since  its  appearance,  and  after  the  period  of  growth 
which  it  represents,  not  a  note  has  been  uttered  by 
its  author  to  which  the  most  rigid  of  moralists  can 
honestly  object. 

The  full  bloom  of  his  lyrical  genius  appears  not 
only  in  the  choruses  of  "  Atalanta,"  but  in  that  large- 
moulded  ode,  "  Ave  atque  Vale,"  composed  in  memory 
of  Charles  Baudelaire.  It  is  founded  on  the  model 
of  famous  English  prototypes,  to  wit,  the  "  Epitaph  of 
Bion."  If  unequal  to  "  Lycidas "  in  idyllic  feeling, 
or  to  "  Adonais  "  in  lofty  scorn  and  sorrow,  it  is  more 
imaginative  than  the  former,  and  surpasses  either  in 
continuity  of  tone  and  the  absolute  melody  of  elabo 
rate  verse.  Arnold's  "  Thyrsis  "  is  a  wise  and  manly 
poem,  closely  adjusted  to  the  classic  phrase ;  but 
here  is  an  ethereal  strain  of  the  highest  elegiac  or 
der,  fashioned  in  a  severe  yet  flexible  spirit  of  lyric 
art.  In  stanzaic  beauty  it  ranks,  with  Keats's  odes, 
among  our  rarest  examples.  Critics  who  have  sat  at 
the  feet  of  Wordsworth  should  remember  that  Swin 
burne,  in  youth,  was  powerfully  affected  by  the  poetry 
of  the  wild  and  gifted  author  of  "Les  Fleurs  du 
Mai."  This  threnody  comes  as  directly  from  the 
heart  as  those  of  Shelley  or  Arnold  lamenting  Keats 
or  Clough.  Baudelaire  and  his  group  constituted 
what  might  be  termed  the  Franco-Sapphic  school. 
Their  spirit  pervades  many  of  the  "Poems  and  Bal- 


•AVE  ATQUE    VALE: 


397 


lads  "  j  but  Swinburne,  more  fortunate  than  his  teacher, 
has  lived  to  outlive  this  phase,  and  is  nearing  his 
visioned  "  Hesperia  "  of  strength  and  luminous  calm. 
The  "  Ave  atque  Vale  "  is  a  perfect  example  of  the 
metrical  affluence  that  renders  his  verse  a  marvel.  It 
is  found  in  the  opening  lines :  — 

"Shall  I  strew  on  thee  rose,  or  rue,  or  laurel, 
Brother,  on  this  that  was  the  veil  of  thee  ? "  — 

The  second  stanza,  recalling  the  dead  poet's  favor 
ite  ideal,  is  highly  characteristic  :  — 

"  For  always  thee  the  fervid,  languid  glories 
Allured  of  heavier  suns  in  mightier  skies ; 
Thine  ears  knew  all  the  wandering  watery  sighs 

Where  the  sea  sobs  round  Lesbian  promontories, 
The  barren  kiss  of  piteous  wave  to  wave, 
That  knows  not  where  is  that  Leucadian  grave 

Which  hides  too  deep  the  supreme  head  of  song." 

An  imagination  like  that  of  "  Hyperion "  is  found 
in  other  stanzas  :  — 

"  Now  all  strange  hours  and  all  strange  loves  are  over, 
Dreams  and  desires  and  sombre  songs  and  sweet, 
Hast  thou  found  place  at  the  great  knees  and  feet 
Of  some  pale  Titan-woman  like  a  lover, 
Such  as  thy  vision  here  solicited, 
Under  the  shadow  of  her  fair  vast  head, 
The  deep  division  of  prodigious  breasts, 
The  solemn  slope  of  mighty  limbs  asleep, 
The  weight  of  awful  tresses  that  still  keep 
The  savor  and  shade  of  old-world  pine-forests 
Where  the  wet  hill-winds  weep?"  — 

In  one  sense  the  motive  thought  is  below  the  tech 
nical  grandeur  of  the  poem.  Its  ideals  are  Sappho, 
Proserpine,  Apollo,  and  the  Venus  of  Baudelaire,  — 
not  the  Cytherean,  but  the  Gothic  Venus  "of  the 


398 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


Tribute  to 
the  memory 
of  Gautier. 
1872. 


Swinburne's 
gift  of 
tongues. 


See  page '62. 


hollow  hill."  The  round  of  Baudelaire's  conceptions 
is  thus  pursued,  after  the  antique  fashion,  with  ex 
quisite  and  solemn  power.  The  tone  is  not  one  of 
high  laudation,  but  of  a  minstrel  who  recalls  the  dead 
as  he  was,  —  a  chant  of  sorrow  and  appreciation,  not 
of  hope.  What  extravagance  there  may  be  is  in  the 
passion  and  poetry  lavished  upon  the  theme.  It  is 
an  ode  written  for  persons  of  delicate  culture ;  no 
one  else  can  grasp  the  allusions,  though  who  so  dull 
as  not  to  be  captivated  by  the  sound !  But  the  same 
may  be  said  of  "  Adonais "  or  "  Hylas  "  ;  and  here 
again  recurs  the  question  asked  concerning  Landor, 
Shall  not  the  wise,  as  well  as  the  witless,  have  their 
poets  ? 

The  "Memorial  Verses  on  the  Death  of  The'ophile 
Gautier"  are  also  beautiful.  They  are  composed  in  a 
grave  form  of  quatrain  resembling,  though  with  a  dif 
ference,  FitzGerald's  version  of  the  "  Rubaiyat  of  Omar 
Khayyam."  The  elegy  is  the  longest  of  our  author's 
contributions  to  a  volume  in  which  eighty  poets  of 
France,  Italy,  and  England  united  to  lay  upon  the 
tomb  of  Gautier  a  wreath  more  profuse  with  laurels 
than  any  other  which  we  have  recorded  in  the  history 
of  elegiac  song.  Swinburne's  portion  of  this  remark 
able  tribute  includes,  also,  an  English  sonnet,  a  son 
net  and  an  ode  in  French,  and  Greek  and  Latin 
verses  such  as,  I  think,  no  other  of  the  chanting 
multitude  could  have  composed.  A  word  in  respect 
to  his  talent  for  this  kind  of  work.  Possibly  Landor 
was  a  more  ready  Latinist,  but  no  Englishman  has 
written  Greek  elegiac  to  equal  either  the  dedication 
of  "  Atalanta "  or  the  Gautier  "  inscriptions "  con 
tained  in  this  memorial  volume.  Having  spoken  of 
the  uselessness  of  Landor's  classical  exploits,  I  would 


GREEK  AND  LATIN  VERSES. 


399 


here  add  that  their  uselessness  relates  to  the  audi 
ence,  and  not  to  the  poet.  The  effect  of  such  prac 
tice  upon  himself  and  Swinburne  would  of  itself  argue 
for  this  amendment.  The  younger  poet's  own  language 
is  so  modest  and  suggestive,  that  in  repeating  what 
was  privately  uttered  I  simply  do  him  justice  by 
stating  his  position  better  than  it  can  otherwise  be 
stated.  "  The  value  of  modern  Latin  or  Greek  verse," 
he  says,  "depends,  I  think,  upon  the  execution.  Good 
verse,  at  any  time,  is  a  good  thing,  and  a  change  of 
instrument  now  and  then  is  good  practice  for  the 

performer's  hand I  confess  that  I  take  delight 

in  the  metrical  forms  of  any  language  of  which  I 
know  anything  whatever,  simply  for  the  metre's  sake, 
as  a  new  musical  instrument ;  and,  as  soon  as  I  can, 
I  am  tempted  to  try  my  hand  or  my  voice  at  a  new 
mode  of  verse,  like  a  child  trying  to  sing  before  it 
can  speak  plain."  In  short,  to  a  poet  like  Swinburne 
diversions  of  this  kind  have  a  practical  value,  even 
though  they  seem  to  be  those  of  a  knight  tilting  at 
a  wayside  tournament  as  he  rides  on  his  votive 
quest. 

We  have  dwelt  so  long  upon  the  lyrics  as  to  have 
little  space  for  examination  of  more  recent  and  im 
portant  works.  My  object  has  been  to  observe  the 
development  of  the  poet's  genius,  and  thence  derive 
an  estimate  of  his  present  career.  From  1867  to 
1871  he  gave  his  ardent  sympathy  to  the  cause  of 
European  freedom,  exerting  himself  in  laudation,  al 
most  in  apotheosis,  of  the  republican  heroes  and 
martyrs.  Possibly  his  radical  tendency  was  strength 
ened  in  youth  by  association  with  a  sturdy  grandsire, 
the  late  Sir  John  Swinburne,  who  was  a  personal 
friend  of  Mirabeau,  and  to  the  last  of  his  ninety- 


400 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


"A  Song  of 
Italy,"  1867. 


"  Ode  on  the 

French 

Republic," 

1870. 


"Songs  be 
fore  Sun 
rise,"  1871. 


eight  years  an  ultra-liberal  of  the  French  revolu 
tionary  school.  The  democratic  poets  of  this  century 
—  men  like  Landor,  Shelley,  Hugo,  Swinburne  —  often 
are  to  be  found  among  those  of  patrician  birth  and 
culture.  Swinburne,  as  if  tired  of  art  followed  for  its 
own  sake,  threw  his  soul  into  the  struggle  of  the 
French  and  Italian  patriots.  A  So?tg  of  Italy  is 
marked  by  sonorous  eloquence,  and  carries  us  buoy 
antly  along ;  yet,  despite  its  splendid  apostrophes  to 
Mazzini  and  Garibaldi,  it  was  not  a  poem  to  be 
widely  received  and  to  stir  the  common  heart.  It 
appeals  to  the  lover  of  high  poetry  rather  than  to 
votaries  of  the  cause.  The  Ode  on  the  French  Republic 
was  less  worthy  of  the  author,  and  not  equal  to  its 
occasion.  It  bears  the  stamp  of  work  composed  for 
a  special  event  as  plainly  as  some  of  Southey's  or 
Wordsworth's  laureate  odes.  We  may  apply  to  it  a 
portion  of  Swinburne's  own  censure  of  a  far  nobler 
poem,  Lowell's  "  Commemoration  Ode,"  of  which 
many  an  isolated  line  is  worth  more  to  a  great  nation 
than  the  whole  French  ode  can  ever  be  to  them  that 
love  France.  Songs  before  Sunrise  may  be  taken  as 
the  crowning  effort  of  the  author  during  the  period 
just  named.  It  is  a  series  of  lofty  and  imposing  odes, 
exhibiting  Swinburne's  varied  lyrical  powers  and  his 
most  earnest  traits  of  character.  The  conflict  of  day 
with  night  before  the  sunrise  of  freedom  is  rehearsed 
in  twoscore  pieces,  which  chant  the  democratic  up 
rising  of  Continental  Europe  and  the  outbreak  in 
Crete.  Grouped  together,  the  effect  is  that  of  a  strong 
symphonic  movement ;  yet  much  of  it  is  tumultuous 
and  ineffective.  The  prolonged  earnestness  fags  the 
reader,  and  helps  a  cause  less  than  might  some  pop 
ular  lyric  or  soldier's  hymn.  A  trace  of  the  spas- 


PROSE   WRITINGS. 


401 


modic  manner  injures  much  of  Swinburne's  revolu 
tionary  verse.  Yet  here  are  powerful  single  poems  : 
"The  Watch  in  the  Night,"  "  Hertha,"  the  "Hymn 
of  Man,"  and  "  Perinde  ac  Cadaver."  "  Hertha  "  rates 
high  among  the  author's  pieces,  having  so  much  lyric 
force  and  music  united  with  condensed  and  clarified 
thought.  "  The  Eve  of  Revolution  "  is  like  the  sound 
of  a  trumpet,  and  charged  with  fiery  imagination,  a 
fit  companion-piece  to  Coleridge's  finest  ode. 

In  Swinburne's  poems  we  do  not  perceive  the  love 
of  nature  which  was  so  passionate  an  element  in  the 
spirit  and  writings  of  Shelley,  that  exile  from  the 
hearts  and  households  of  his  fellow-men.  Were  he 
compelled  to  follow  art  as  a  means  of  subsistence 
and  to  suit  his  work  to  the  market,  it  would  be  more 
condensed  and  practical,  yet  would,  I  think,  lose  some 
thing  of  its  essential  flavor.  After  all,  he  has  been 
an  industrious  man  of  letters,  devoted  to  literature 
as  a  matter  of  love  and  religion.  The  exhaustive 
essays  upon  Blake  and  Chapman,  his  various  pref 
aces  and  annotations,  and  his  criticisms  of  Arnold, 
Morris,  and  Hugo,  among  other  professional  labors, 
are  fresh  in  mind.  The  prose,  like  the  poetry,  is 
unflagging  and  impetuous  beyond  that  of  other  men. 
No  modern  writer,  save  De  Quincey,  has  sustained 
himself  so  easily  and  with  such  cumulative  force 
through  passages  which  strain  the  reader's  mental 
power.  His  organ  of  expression  is  so  developed  that 
no  exercise  of  it  seems  to  produce  brain-weariness, 
and  he  does  not  realize  that  others  are  subject  to  that 
kind  of  fatigue. 

He  rarely  takes  up  the  critical  pen  unless  to  pay 
honor  to  a  work  he  admires,  or  to  confront  some  foe 
with  dangerous  satire  and  wrath.  His  language  is  so 


No  marked 
passion/or 
nature. 


Critical  and 
other  prose 
essays. 


402 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


A  brilliant 
and  origi 
nal,  but  not 
always  judi 
cial  mind. 


"  Under  the 
Microscope" 
1872. 


Thoughtless 
estimate  of 
A  merican 
poets. 


enthusiastic  that  it  does  not  always  convince ;  in  fact, 
his  rhetoric  and  generous  partisanship  lessen  his  ju 
dicial  authority.  His  writings  often  are  too  learned. 
Scholarship  is  a  second  nature  with  him ;  he  is  not 
obscure,  like  Browning,  but  his  allusions  are  so  famil 
iar  to  himself  that  he  cannot  bring  them  to  the  level 
of  popular  comprehension.  Nor  can  he,  however  laud 
atory  of  the  masters  he  affected  in  youth,  look  upon 
other  modern  poets  except  with  the  complacency  felt 
by  one  who  listens  to  a  stranger's  rude  handling  of 
the  native  tongue.  His  command  of  verse  is  so  be 
yond  that  of  any  other  Briton,  that  poets  of  different 
grades  must  seem  to  him  pretty  much  alike,  and  their 
relative  gifts  scarcely  worth  distinguishing.  By  the 
law  of  attractions  I  should  expect  to  see  him  inter 
ested  in  verse  of  the  most  bald  and  primeval  form. 
Many  excel  him  in  humor,  simplicity,  range  of  in 
ventive  power.  But  contend  with  him  in  rhythm, 
and,  though  you  are  Thor  himself,  you  are  trying  to 
drain  the  horn  of  which  one  end  is  open  to  the  sea. 
While  recognizing  his  thorough  honesty,  I  do  not 
assent  to  his  judgment  of  American  poets.  In 
Under  the  Microscope  he  pays  a  tribute  to  Poe,  and 
has  a  just  understanding  of  the  merits  and  defects 
of  Whitman.  His  denunciation  of  all  the  rest,  as 
either  mocking-birds  in  their  adherence  to  models, 
or  corn-crakes  in  the  harshness  and  worthlessness  of 
their  original  song,  results,  it  is  plain,  not  from  preju 
dice,  but  from  ignorance  of  the  atmosphere  which  per 
vades  American  life.  A  poet  must  sing  for  his  own 
people.  Whitman,  for  instance,  well  and  boldly  avows 
himself  the  mouthpiece  of  our  democratic  nationality. 
Aside  from  the  unconscious  formalism  that  injures  his 
poems,  and  which  Swinburne  has  pointed  out,  he  has 


AMERICAN  POETS. 


done  what  he  could,  and  we  acknowledge  the  justice 
shown  to  one,  at  least,  of  our  representative  men. 
But  to  cite  other  examples,  —  and  a  few  are  enough 
for  this  digression,  —  if  Swinburne  thoroughly  under 
stood  the  deep  religious  sentiment,  the  patriotism,  the 
tender  aspiration,  of  the  best  American  homes,  he 
would  perceive  that  our  revered  Whittier  had  fairly 
expressed  these  emotions ;  would  comprehend  the  na 
tional  affection  which  discerns  quality  even  in  his 
faults,  and  originality  and  music  in  his  fervent  strains. 
And  if  he  could  feel  the  mighty  presence  of  American 
woods  and  waters,  he  would  see  how  simply  and 
grandly  the  author  of  "  Thanatopsis,"  "  A  Forest 
Hymn,"  and  "The  Night  Journey  of  a  River,"  had 
communed  with  nature,  and  acknowledge  the  Doric 
strength  and  purity  of  his  imaginative  verse.  Our 
figure-school  is  but  lately  founded ;  landscape-art  and 
sentiment  have  had  to  precede  it ;  but,  again,  cannot 
even  a  foreign  critic  find  in  poems  like  Lowell's  "  The 
Courti  n' "  an  idyllic  truth  that  Theocritus  might  re 
joice  in,  all  that  can  be  made  of  the  New  England 
dialect,  and  pictures  full  of  sweetness  and  feeling? 
Of  this  much  I  am  confident,  and  this  much  will 
serve.  America  is  not  all  frontier,  and  her  riper 
thought  and  life  are  reflected  in  her  literature.  Our 
poets  may  avail  themselves  of  "  the  glory  that  was 
Greece  "  with  as  much  justice  and  originality  as  any 
British  minstrel.  The  artist  claims  all  subjects,  times, 
and  places  for  his  own.  Bryant,  Emerson,  Whittier, 
Lowell,  Longfellow,  —  to  cite  no  lesser  or  younger 
names,  —  are  esteemed  by  a  host  of  their  countrymen 
who  can  read  between  the  lines ;  their  poems  are  the 
music  of  a  land  to  which  British  authors  now  must 
look  for  the  largest  and  ever-growing  portion  of  their 


404 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


Chastel 
rd"  1865. 


A  romantic 

historical 

drama. 


The  poefs 
conception 
of  Mary 
Stuart. 


own  constituency.  Each  one  of  these  poets  as  truly 
represents  his  country  as  any  of  their  comrades  who 
secure  foreign  attention  by  claiming  a  special  prerog 
ative  in  this  office. 


IV. 

To  return  to  Chastelard^  which  appeared  close  after 
"  Atalanta,"  but  in  order  of  composition,  as  I  have 
said,  is  known  to  have  preceded  the  classical  drama. 
The  latter  poem  seemed  flooded  with  moonlight,  but 
"  Chastelard  "  is  warm-blooded  and  modern,  charged 
with  lurid  passion  and  romance.  As  a  historical 
tragedy  it  was  a  direct  test  of  the  dramatic  powers 
of  the  author,  and  it  is  as  a  dramatic  poet  that  he 
must  be  chiefly  regarded.  In  this  play  we  see  the 
ripening  of  the  genius  that  in  youth  produced  "  The 
Queen  Mother,"  and  to  me  it  has  far  more  interest 
than  Swinburne's  political  lyrics.  Mary  Stuart  and 
her  "  four  Maries "  are  the  women  of  the  piece ; 
Chastelard,  her  minstrel-lover,  and  Darnley,  the  lead 
ing  men  ;  Knox,  who  is  to  figure  so  grandly  in  another 
and  greater  work,  drifts  as  a  gloomy  and  portentous 
shadow  across  the  scene.  The  poem  opens  with  an 
exquisitely  light  French  song  of  the  period.  A  fine 
romantic  flavor,  smacking  of  the  "  dance  and  Pro- 
ven^al  song,"  pervades  the  interludes  of  the  tragedy. 
The  interest  centres  in  the  charm  wrought  by  Mary 
upon  Chastelard,  although  he  knows  the  cruelty  of 
one  who  toys  with  him  while  her  ambition  suffers 
him  to  be  put  to  death.  The  dungeon-scene,  in  which 
he  foregoes  the  Queen's  pardon,  is  very  powerful. 
Swinburne  may  almost  be  said  to  have  discovered 
Mary  Stuart.  Upon  his  conception  of  her  character 


CHASTELARD: 


405 


he  lavishes  his  strength;  she  becomes  the  historic 
parallel  of  the  Gothic  Venus,  loving  love  rather  than 
her  lover,  full  of  passion,  full  of  softness  and  beauty, 
full  of  caprice,  vengeance,  and  deceit.  She  says  of 
herself :  — 

"Nay,  dear,  I  have 

No  tears  in  me ;  I  never  shall  weep  much, 
I  think,  in  all  my  life ;  I  have  wept  for  wrath 
Sometimes,  and  for  mere  pain,  but  for  love's  pity 
I  cannot  weep  at  all.     I  would  to  God 
You  loved  me  less ;  I  give  you  all  I  can 
For  all  this  love  of  yours,  and  yet  I  am  sure 
I  shall  live  out  the  sorrow  of  your  death 
And  be  glad  afterwards." 

Yet  this  royal  Lamia,  when  with  a  lover  (and  she 
never  is  without  one),  is  so  much  passion's  slave  as 
to  invite  risks  which  certainly  will  be  the  death  of 
her  favorite,  and  possibly  her  own  ruin.  In  depict 
ing  her  as  she  moves  through  the  historic  changes  of 
her  life  Swinburne  has  fortunately  chosen  a  theme 
well  suited  to  him.  Mary  Beaton,  who  in  secret 
adores  Chastelard,  serves  as  a  foil  to  the  Queen,  and 
is  an  equally  resolute  character.  The  execution  scene 
is  strongly  managed,  with  thrilling  dialogue  between 
this  Mary  and  Mary  Carmichael ;  at  the  end  room  is 
made  for  my  lord  of  Bothwell,  next  the  Queen. 
Though  alive  with  poetry  and  passion,  this  play,  like 
"  Atalanta,"  is  restrained  within  artistic  bounds.  It 
has  less  mannerism  than  we  find  in  most  of  the  au 
thor's  early  style.  The  chief  personages  are  drawn 
strongly  and  distinctly,  and  the  language  of  the  Scot 
tish  citizens,  burgesses,  courtiers,  etc.,  is  true  to  the 
matter  and  the  time.  The  whole  play  is  intensely 
emotional,  the  scenes  and  dialogue  are  vigorously 
conceived,  and  it  must  be  owned  that  "  Chastelard  " 


Choice  of 
theme. 


406 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


"Bothwell" 
1874- 


The  author 
in  the  front 
rank  of 
modern  dra 
matic  poets. 


"Both-well," 
an  epic  in 
dramatic 
form. 


was  a  remarkable  essay  for  a  poet  of  Swinburne's 
age  at  the  date  of  its  production. 

Nevertheless,  youth  is  the  time  to  feel,  and  there 
fore  for  a  poet  to  illustrate,  the  extreme  abandonment 
of  delirious  but  unselfish  passion.  The  second  and 
greater  portion  of  the  Stuart  trilogy  required  a  man 
to  write  it.  Now  that  almost  a  decade  of  creative 
and  somewhat  tempestuous  experience  has  strength 
ened,  calmed,  and  otherwise  perfected  Swinburne's 
faculties,  he  completes  the  grand  historical  poem  of 
Bothwell;  a  prodigious  work  in  every  way,  —  possibly 
the  longest  five-act  drama  ever  written,  and,  at  least, 
longer  than  any  whose  power  and  interest  have  not 
given  out  before  the  close.  The  time  has  not  yet 
come  to  determine  its  place  in  English  literature. 
But  I  agree  with  them  who  declare  that  Swinburne, 
by  this  massive  and  heroic  composition,  has  placed 
himself  in  the  front  line  of  our  poets ;  that  no  one 
can  be  thought  his  superior  in  true  dramatic  power. 
The  work  not  only  is  large,  but  written  in  a  large 
manner.  It  seems  deficient  in  contrasts,  especially 
needing  the  relief  which  humor,  song  and  by-play  af 
ford  to  a  tragic  plot.  But  it  is  a  great  historical 
poem,  cast  in  a  dramatic  rather  than  epic  form,  for 
the  sake  of  stronger  analysis  and  dialogue.  Consid 
ered  as  a  dramatic  epic,  it  has  no  parallel,  and  is 
replete  with  proofs  of  laborious  study  and  faithful 
use  of  the  rich  materials  afforded  by  the  theme.  Ar 
tistically  speaking,  this  painstaking  has  checked  the 
movement;  even  so  free  and  ardent  a  genius  is  ham 
pered  by  scholarship,  on  which  Jonson  prided  himself, 
though  imagination  served  Shakespeare's  turn. 

On  the  other  hand,  "  Bothwell  "  is  a  genuine  con 
tribution  to  history.  The  subject  has  grown  upon 


^BOTHWELL: 


407 


the  poet.  This  section  of  the  trilogy  is  many  times 
the  length  of  "  Chastelard."  "  Things,  now,  that  bear 
a  weighty  and  a  serious  brow "  are  set  before  the 
reader.  Great  affairs  of  state  hang  at  poise;  Rizzio, 
Darnley,  Murray,  Gordon,  Knox,  Bothwell,  and  the 
Queen  are  made  to  live  or  die  in  our  presence,  and 
the  most  of  them  are  tangled  in  a  red  and  desperate 
coil.  Mary's  character  has  hardened;  she  has  grown 
more  reckless,  fuller  of  evil  passion,  and  now  is  not 
only  a  murderess  by  implication,  but,  outraged  by  the 
slaughter  of  Rizzio,  becomes  a  murderess  in  fact. 
The  sum  of  her  iniquities  is  recounted  by  Knox  in 
his  preachment  to  the  citizens  of  Edinburgh.  That 
wonderful  harangue  seems  to  me  the  most  sustained 
and  characteristic  passage  in  modern  verse ;  but  even 
this  Mary  Stuart,  who  "  washed  her  feet "  in  the 
blood  of  her  lovers,  —  even  she  has  found  her  tamer 
in  the  brutal  and  ruthless  Bothwell,  who  towers  like 
a  black  demon  throughout  the  play.  Nevertheless, 
amid  her  cruelties  and  crimes,  we  discover,  from  her 
very  self-abandonment  to  the  first  really  strong  man 
she  has  met,  that  her  falseness  has  been  the  reac 
tion  of  a  fine  nature  warped  and  degraded  by  the 
feeble  creatures  hitherto  imposed  upon  her.  Such 
love  as  she  had  for  the  beautiful  was  given  to  her 
poet  and  her  musician,  to  Chastelard  and  Rizzio ; 
but  only  the  virile  and  heroic  can  fully  satisfy  her 
own  nature  and  master  it  for  good  or  evil.  Under 
certain  auspices,  from  her  youth  up,  she  might  have 
been  a  paragon  of  love,  sovereignty,  and  womanhood. 
Among  the  various  notable  passages  in  this  drama 
are :  the  death  of  Rizzio,  the  scenes  before  and  after 
the  murder  of  Darnley,  the  interviews  between  Both- 
well  and  Mary  in  Hermitage  Castle  and  elsewhere, 


408 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


the  populace  harangued  by  Knox  ;  finally,  the  clos 
ing  speech  of  the  Queen  to  Mary  Beaton,  whose 
sinister  avowal, 

"  But  I  will  never  leave  you  till  you  die ! " 

connects  the  entire  plot  with  that  ominous  future, 
whose  story,  ever  deepening  in  gloom,  has  yet  to 
make  the  trilogy  complete.  "  Bothwell "  exhibits  no 
excess  but  that  of  length,  and  no  mannerism ;  on  the 
contrary,  a  superb  manner,  and  a  ripe,  pure,  and  ma 
jestic  style.  To  show  the  strength,  richness,  and 
dramatic  variety  of  Swinburne's  mature  language,  let 
us  take  a  few  extracts  from  the  dialogue  of  this 
historical  play,  with  its  threescore  personages  and  as 
many  shifting  scenes.  The  first  portrays  the  soldier, 
Bothwell :  — 

"  Queen.     Does  your  wound  pain  you  ? 

Bothwell.  What,  I  have  a  wound  ? 

Queen.     How  should  one  love  enough,  though  she  gave  all, 
Who  had  your  like  to  love  ?    I  pray  you  tell  me, 
How  did  you  fight  ? 

Bothwell.  Why,  what  were  this  to  tell? 

I  caught  this  riever,  by  some  chance  of  God, 
That  put  his  death  into  mine  hand,  alone, 
And  charged  him ;  foot  to  foot  we  fought  some  space, 
And  he  fought  well ;   a  gallant  knave,  God  wot, 
And  worth  a  sword  for  better  soldier's  work 
Than  these  thieves'  brawls;    I  would  have  given  him  life 
To  ride  among  mine  own  men  here  and  serve, 
But  he  would  nought ;   so  being  sore  hurt  i'  the  thigh, 
I  pushed  upon  him  suddenly,  and  clove 
His  crown  through  to  the  chin." 

The    second    is   from  the  lips  of  Mary,  shut  up  in 
Lochleven  Castle  :  — 

"  Queen.     Ay,  we  were  fools,  we  Maries  twain,  and  thought 
To  be  into  the  summer  back  again 


'BOTHWELL: 


409 


And  see  the  broom  blow  in  the  golden  world, 

The  gentle  broom  on  hill.     For  all  men's  talk 

And  all  things  come  and  gone  yet,  yet  I  find 

I  am  not  tired  of  that  I  see  not  here, 

The  sun,  and  the  large  air,  and  the  sweet  earth, 

And  the  hours  that  hum  like  fire-flies  on  the  hills 

As  they  burn  out  and  die,  and  the  bowed  heaven, 

And  the  small  clouds  that  swim  and  swoon  i'  the  sun, 

And  the  small  flowers." 

Lastly,  a   few   powerful   lines   from    Knox's   terrific 
indictment  of  the  Queen  :  — 

"John  Knox Then  shall  one  say, 

Seeing  these  men  also  smitten,  as  ye  now 
Seeing  them  that  bled  before  to  do  her  good, 
God  is  not  mocked ;   and  ye  shall  surely  know 
What  men  were  these  and  what  man  he  that  spake 
The  things  I  speak  now  prophesying,  and  said 
That  if  ye  spare  to  shed  her  blood  for  shame, 
For  fear  or  pity  of  her  great  name  or  face, 
God  shall  require  of  you  the  innocent  blood 
Shed  for  her  fair  face'  sake,  and  from  your  hands 
Wring  the  price  forth  of  her  blood-guiltiness." 

.    .     .     .     "  Her  reign  and  end 
Shall  be  like  Athaliah's,  as  her  birth 
Was  from  the  womb  of  Jezebel,  that  slew 
The  prophets,  and  made  foul  with  blood  and  fire 
The  same  land's  face  that  now  her  seed  makes  foul 
With  whoredoms  and  with  witchcrafts ;   yet  they  say 
Peace,  where  is  no  peace,  while  the  adulterous  blood 
Feeds  yet  with  life  and  sin  the  murderous  heart 
That  hath  brought  forth  a  wonder  to  the  world 
And  to  all  time  a  terror ;   and  this  blood 
The  hands  are  clean  that  shed,  and  they  that  spare 
In  God's  just  sight  spotted  as  foul  as  Cain's." 

The  exceptions  taken  against  poems  of  Swinburne's 
youth  will  not  hold  in  respect  to  this  fine  production. 
The  most  serious  charge  that  can  be  brought  is  that 
18 


John  Knox. 


4io 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


of  its  undue  length,  and  as  to  this  the  judgments  of 
different  readers  will  be  as  various  as  their  tempera 
ments.  "  Bothwell "  is  a  work  for  vigorous  minds, 
and  to  such  it  must  always  seem  the  bloom  of  beauty 
and  power.  I  think  it  would  be  fortunate  if  some 
new  outlet  of  expression  could  be  made  for  the  dra 
matic  spirit  of  our  time.  Men  like  Browning  and 
Swinburne  do  not  readily  become  playwrights ;  the 
stage  now  requires  of  a  drama  that  it  shall  be  written 
in  sparkling  prose  or  the  lightest  of  verse,  and,  of  the 
author,  cleverness  and  ingenuity  rather  than  poetic 
greatness.  It  would  not  injure  this  writer  to  shape 
his  work  for  a  direct  hearing,  to  be  restricted  by  the 
limits  of  an  arbitrary  system  ;  but  might  have  upon 
these  historical  tragedies  a  gracious  effect  like  that 
which  resulted  from  the  antique  method  applied  to 
his  "  Atalanta."  Ritualism,  the  bane  of  less  prolific 
natures,  is  what  such  a  man  need  not  fear.  Ease  of 
circumstances  has  not  made  an  amateur  of  this  artist 
and  enthusiast ;  nevertheless,  in  his  case,  the  benefits 
of  professional  independence  are  nearly  balanced  by 
the  ills. 


V. 

TAINE  brings  a  great  cloud  of  examples  to  show 
that  each  period  shapes  the  work  and  fortunes  of  its 
authors,  but  it  is  equally  true  that  men  of  genius 
create  new  modes,  and  often  determine  the  nature  of 
periods  yet  to  come.  Swinburne  may  live  to  see  the 
time  and  himself  in  correspondence.  To  me  he  sevems 
the  foremost  of  the  younger  school  of  British  poets. 
The  fact  that  a  man  is  not  yet  haloed  with  the  light 
that  comes  only  when,  in  death  or  in  hoary  age,  he 


HIS  GENIUS  AND    WORKS. 


411 


recalls  to  us  the  past,  need  not  debar  him  from  full 
recognition.  A  critic  must  be  quick  to  estimate  the 
present.  For  some  years,  as  I  have  observed  the 
successive  efforts  of  this  poet,  a  feeling  of  his  genius 
has  grown  upon  me,  derived  not  only  from  his  prom 
ise,  but  from  what  he  actually  has  done.  If  he  were 
to  write  no  more,  and  his  past  works  should  be  col 
lected  in  a  single  volume,  —  although,  as  in  the  re 
mains  of  Shelley,  we  might  find  little  narrative-verse, 
what  a  world  of  melody,  and  what  a  wealth  of  imagi 
native  song !  It  is  true  that  his  well-known  manner 
would  pervade  the  book ;  we  should  find  no  great 
variety  of  mood,  few  studies  of  visible  objects,  a 
meagre  reflection  of  English  life  as  it  exists  to-day. 
Yet  a  subtile  observer  would  perceive  how  truly  he 
represents  his  own  time,  and  to  a  poet  this  compen 
dium  would  become  a  lyrical  hand-book,  a  treasured 
exposition  of  creative  and  beautiful  design. 
/  Acknowledging  the  presence  of  true  genius,  minor 
^objections  are  of  small  account.  A  poet  may  hold 
himself  apart,  or  from  caprice  may  do  things  un 
worthy  of  his  noblest  self,  but  we  think  of  him  al 
ways  as  at  his  best.  \  The  gift  is  not  so  common  ; 
let  us  value  it  while/  it  is  here.  Let  us  also  do 
justice  to  the  world,  —  to  the  world  that,  remember 
ing  its  past  errors,  no  longer  demands  of  great  wits 
that  they  should  wholly  forego  madness.  Fifty  years 
ago,  and  Swinburne,  for  his  eccentricities  and  dis 
dain,  might  have  been  an  exile  like  Byron  and  Shel 
ley,  or,  for  his  republicanism,  imprisoned  like  Leigh 
Hunt.  We  have  learned  that  poets  gather  from  strange 
experiences  what  they  teach  in  song.  If  rank  un 
wholesome  flowers  spring  from  too  rich  a  soil,  in  the 
end  a  single  fruitful  blossoming  will  compensate  us 


ifl.  mount 
"df.nd  richness 
Stfthe  work 
already  ac 
complished 
by  this  poet. 


Genius  to  be 
measured  at 
its  best. 


4I2 


ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


Application. 


Retrospec 
tive  sum 
mary. 

The  Geor 
gian  era '. 
1790-1824. 


A  transition 
period. 


Victorian 
poets. 


for  the  sterile  fleurs  du  mal  of  youth.  Lastly,  Swin 
burne  has  been  said  to  lack  application,  but  ten  years 
of  profuse  and  consecutive  labors  refute  the  charge. 
Works  like  his  are  not  produced  without  energy  and 
long  industrious  hours.  If  done  at  a  heat,  the  slow 
hidden  fire  has  never  ceased  its  burning.  Who  shall 
dictate  to  a  poet  his  modes  and  tenses,  or  his  choice 
of  work  ?  But  all  this  matters  nothing ;  the  entire 
host  of  traditional  follies  need  not  abash  us  if,  with 
their  coming,  we  have  a  revival  of  the  olden  passion 
and  the  olden  power. 


DURING  the  Georgian  era  a  romantic  sentimentalism, 
exalted  to  passion  in  the  utterance  of  Byron,  was  the 
dominating  spirit  of  British  verse.  The  more  subtile 
but  slowly  maturing  influence  of  the  Lake  school,  and 
that  of  the  idealists  Shelley  and  Keats,  did  not  lay 
firm  hold  upon  the  immediate  generation.  Their  effect 
was  not  wholly  apparent  until  the  beginning  of  our 
own  time.  Nevertheless,  a  few  poets,  among  whom 
Hunt  and  Procter  were  notable,  extended  it  over  a 
transition  period,  and  finally  saw  it  become  a  general 
and  potent  force.  The  reader  now  has  observed  the 
technical  finish,  the  worship  of  pure  beauty,  and  the 
revival  of  classical  taste,  discernible,  before  the  work 
of  Keats,  in  the  artistic  method  of  Landor,  —  a  poet 
who  so  recently  ended  his  career.  These  constituents, 
more  fully  developed  by  the  exquisite  genius  of  Keats, 
were  to  mark  the  outward  features  of  English  metri 
cal  literature  during  the  refined  era  whose  poets  have 
been  included  under  this  review ;  whose  spirit,  more 
over,  suggested  that  contemplative  method  which  rose 
to  imagination  in  the  high  discourse  of  Wordsworth, 


RETROSPECTIVE  SUMMARY. 


413 


and  too  often  sinks  to  didacticism    in  the  perplexed 
and  timorous  strains  of  his  disciples. 

After  passion,  —  reflection,  taste,  repose ;  and  such 
have  been  the  qualities  displayed  by  numbers  of  the 
Victorian  poets  in  the  contemplation  of  beauty  and 
knowledge,  and  in  the  production  of  their  composite 
verse.  At  last  a  Neo-Romantic  school,  of  which 
Browning  and  Rossetti  have  been  leaders,  is  engaged 
in  a  nervous  effort  to  reunite  beauty  and  passion  in 
rhythmical  art.  Swinburne,  beyond  the  rest,  having 
carried  expression  to  its  farthest  extreme,  obeys  a 
healthful  impulse,  seeking  to  renew  the  true  dramatic 
vigor  and  thus  begin  another  cycle  of  creative  song. 
Even  Tennyson,  in  the  mellow  ripeness  of  his  fame, 
perceives  that  the  mission  of  the  idyllist  is  ended,  and 
extends  to  the  latest  movement  his  adherence  and  prac 
tical  aid.  Going  outside  his  special  genius  and  life 
long  wont,  he  now  —  through  sheer  intellectual  force, 
and  the  skill  made  perfect  by  fifty  years  of  practice  — 
has  composed,  with  deliberate  forethought  and  consum 
mate  art,  a  drama  that  does  not  belie  the  name.  With 
out  much  imaginative  splendor,  it  is  at  least  objective 
and  adapted  to  the  fitness  of  things,  and  thus  essen 
tially  different  from  Browning's  essays  toward  a  revival 
of  the  dramatic  mould.  On  the  other  hand,  it  also  dif 
fers  from  the  work  of  the  Elizabethan  dramatists,  in 
that  it  is  the  result  of  a  forced  effort,  while  the  models 
after  which  it  is  shaped  were  in  their  day  an  intui 
tive  form  of  expression,  —  the  natural  outgrowth  of  a 
thoroughly  dramatic  age.  The  very  effort,  however,  is 
alike  honorable  to  England's  Laureate  and  significant 
of  the  present  need.  Wisdom,  beauty,  and  passion  — 
a  blended  trinity  —  constitute  the  poetic  strength  of 
every  imaginative  era,  and  memorably  that  of  Shake 


rs  present 
situation 
and  outlook. 


Tennyson's 
drama : 
"Queen 
Mary," 

1875- 


Seepage  191. 


The  constit 
uents  of 
great  dra 
matic  verse. 


414 


RETROSPECTIVE  SUMMARY. 


speare's  time.  I  So  long  as  the  true  critic's  faith,  hope, 
and  charity  abide  (and  the  greatest  of  these  is  charity), 
he  will  justify  every  well-timed,  masterly  effort  to  re 
call  the  triune  spirit  of  Britain's  noblest  and  most 
enduring  song. 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


ABLETT,  JOSEPH,  68. 

Adams,  Sarah  Flower,  257,  278. 

Adonais,  Shelley's,  99,  168,  396,  398. 

yEschylus,  204,  269. 

Affectation,  262,  ef  seq.,  300. 

Affluence,  of  Lander's  imagination,  46  ;  of 
the  recent  schools,  345. 

Aird,  Thomas,  255. 

Alcestis,  of  Euripides,  336. 

Alexander  the  Great,  De  Vere's,  242. 

Alexandrian  Period,  described  and  compared 
to  the  Victorian,  202-209  ;  Kingsley  on, 
208  ;  and  see  pp.  239,  276,  286. 

Alfieri,  compared  to  Landor,  57. 

Alford,  Henry,  242,  278. 

Allegory,  Tennyson's  love  of,  176;  bor 
rowed  from  the  Italian,  1 76  ;  of  Home's 
Orion,  249. 

Allingham,  William,  92,  258. 

Alliteration,  Tennyson's,  179,  226;  Swin 
burne's,  381. 

Amateurship,  generally  to  be  distrusted,  58, 
59;  Landor's,  59;  Swinburne's,  410. 

America,  not  understood  by  Landor,  64 ; 
history  and  song,  290,  291 ;  reflex  influ 
ence  on  England,  291,  292 ;  and  see  389. 

American  poets,  their  freshness  and  individ 
uality,  290  ;  American  and  British  minor 
poets  contrasted,  290,  291 ;  Swinburne's 
strictures  upon,  402  -  404. 

Amrebean  contests,  in  Theocritus  and  in 
Tennyson,  218,  219. 

Anacreon,  205,  226. 

Analysis,  and  synthesis,  the  servitors  of  Art, 
197. 

18* 


Anapestic  Verse,  Browning's  and  Swin 
burne's,  325. 

"  Andrea  del  Sarto,"  Browning's,  322. 

Andrea  of  Hungary,  Landor's,  42. 

Andromeda,  Kingsley's,  43,  251. 

Animals,  Landor's  love  for,  61. 

"Annuals,"  The,  237. 

Anthologia  Grceca,  204. 

Anthropomorphism,  327. 

Antique,  the ;  Atalanta  the  best  attempt  to 
reproduce  it,  386,  387 ;  removed  from 
popular  sympathy,  386 ;  and  see  Hellenics. 

Application,  412. 

Appreciation,  Ruskin  on,  298. 

Arabian  Nights,  377. 

Ariosto,  u. 

Aristocracy  in  Art,  law  of,  53. 

Aristophanes'  Apology*  Browning's,  338. 

Arnold,  Edwin,  270. 

Arnold,  Matthew,  a  poet  of  the  closet,  73 ; 
review  of  his  genius  and  writings,  90  - 100 ; 
his  first  volume,  90 ;  contrasted  with  Hood, 
90,  91 ;  a  poet  of  the  intellect,  91 ;  lyrical 
excellence  and  defects,  92 ;  his  poetic 
theory,  92  ;  his  limitations,  93  ;  elevated 
blank-verse,  93  ;  Balder  Dead,  93  ;  Soh- 
rab  and  Rustum,  94 ;  other  poems  and 
studies,  95  ;  Preface  explantory  of  his  own 
position,  95  ;  his  mental  structure  and  atti 
tude,  96;  subjective  pieces,  96;  exhibits 
reaction  from  over-culture,  97  ;  Clough 
and  Arnold,  98  ;  "  Thyrsis,"  98  ;  his  mas 
terly  prose-writings,  99  ;  final  estimate  of 
his  standing  as  a  poet,  100 ;  despondent 
attitude  of  Arnold  and  Palgrave,  247; 

AA 


4i8 


INDEX. 


quoted,  247  ;  his  citation  of  Goethe,  341 ; 
and  see  5,  40,  167, 168,  251,  289,  348,  386, 
396,  401. 

Art,  spirit  of  antique,  10;  Hebraic  feeling, 
10  ;  mediaeval  spirit,  10,  n  ;  modern  spirit, 
u,  12 ;  tendency  to  reflect  its  own  time, 
27  ;  transient  effect  of  novelty,  29  ;  law  of 
sympathy,  38 ;  art  as  a  means  of  subsist 
ence,  58  ;  defective  art  of  Mrs.  Browning, 
126, 144, 146 ;  complex  modern  art,  shown 
by  Tennyson,  183, 186 ;  refinement  of  the 
minor  poets,  240 ;  Ruskin  on  art  as  a 
means  of  expression,  288  ;  Balzac  on  true 
mission  of,  266 ;  Blake  on  nature  and 
imagination,  266;  a  wise  method  neces 
sary  to  art,  300 ;  tyranny  of  forms,  300 ; 
Art  the  bride  of  the  imagination,  304 ;  uni 
versality  of  her  domain,  403. 

Art-School,  evolution  of,  4,  5  ;  Tennyson  its 
head,  159  ;  and  see  270,  271,  347. 

Ashe,  Thomas,  271. 

Aspiration,  and  attainment,  367. 

Atalanta  in  Calydon,  Swinburne's,  re 
viewed,  386-389;  as  a  reproduction  of 
the  antique,  387  ;  choric  verse,  388 ;  Greek 
dedication  of,  398 ;  and  see  43,  271,  283, 
392,  404,  405. 

Athenceum,  London,  Miss  Barrett's  contri 
butions  to,  123. 

Attic  Period,  205. 

Aurora  Leigh,  Mrs.  Browning's,  reflects  her 
own  experience,  117,  118;  review  of,  140 
-143;  Landor's  estimate  of,  142;  and 
see  146. 

"  Ave  atque  Vale,"  Swinburne's,  99 ;  exam 
ined,  396  -  398 ;  a  lofty  ode,  and  how  it 
compares  with  other  elegies,  396 ;  metri 
cal  beauty,  397. 

Aytoun,  William  Edmondstoune,  250,  251, 
262  ;  Firmilian,  and  Bon  Gualtier,  272  ; 
translations,  276. 

Awkwardness,  Browning's,  303. 

BACON,  118. 
Baconian  Method,  9. 
Bailey,  Philip  James,  263. 


Baillie,  Joanna,  120,  235. 

Balaustiori's  Adventure,  Browning's,  336, 
338. 

Balder,  Dobell's,  267. 

Balder  Dead,  Arnold's,  55,  93. 

Ballad  Romances,  Home's,  249. 

Ballads,  Hood's,  76;  Kingsley's,  251;  Bu 
chanan's,  356;  Rossetti's,  359,364. 

Ballantine,  James,  279. 

Balzac,  on  the  true  mission  of  Art,  266. 

Banim,  John,  260. 

Barbaric  Taste,  Browning's,  339. 

Barham,  Richard  Harris,  238. 

Baring-Gould,  Sabine,  278. 

Barnard,  Lady  Ann,  120. 

Barnes,  William,  279. 

Barons'  Wars,  Drayton's,  180. 

Barrett,  Miss.  See  Elizabeth  Barrett 
Browning. 

Barrett,  Mr.,  father  of  Mrs.  Browning,  116; 
opposes  his  daughter's  marriage,  132, 133. 

"  Barry  Cornwall."     See  B.  W.  Procter. 

Barton,  Bernard,  235. 

Baudelaire,  Charles,  Swinburne's  memorial 
to,  1 68,  396-398;  Lcs  Fleurs  du  Mai, 
396,  412. 

Bayley,  Thomas  Haynes,  258. 

Beauty,  one  of  three  kinds  essential  in  art, 

336. 
Beautiful,  the,  Morris  an  artist  of,  366,  et 

seq. ;  Keats  devoted  to,  367. 
Beddoes,  Thomas  Lovell,  quoted,  20 ;  and 

see  2,  47,  104,  191,  237,  249. 
Bells  and  Pomegranates,  Browning's,  310. 
Bennett,  William  Cox,  259. 
Bcntley's  Magazine,  255. 
Beranger,  3,  83,  339. 
Bickersteth,  Edward  Henry,  278. 
Biography,  in  estimating  an  author's  works, 

54- 

Bion,  Epitaph  of,  201,  396. 
Bion,  and  Moschus,  99,  168,  201,  215,  216, 

221,  223,  225  ;   and  see   Theocritus  and 

Tennyson. 
"  Bishop  Blougram's  Apology,"  327,  328, 

337- 


INDEX. 


419 


Blackie,  John  Stuart,  275. 

Blackwood' 's  Magazine,  255. 

Blake,  William,  his  idealism,  19  ;  aphorisms 
of,  266 ;  and  see  353,  362,  401. 

Blank-Verse,  a  crucial  test,  45  ;  Lander's, 
45,  46;  Tennyson's,  160-162;  Eliza 
bethan,  160;  Miltonic,  160;  idyllic,  212. 

"  Blessed  Damozel,  The,"  363. 

Blessington,  Countess  of,  38. 

Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon,  Browning's,  314. 

Boccaccio,  n,  372. 

Boileau,  393. 

Bonar,  Horatius,  278. 

Book  of  Orm,  Buchanan's,  352-354;  tran 
scendental  and  lacking  simplicity,  but  fine 
here  and  there,  353,  354.  "  The  Dream 
of  the  World  without  Death,"  and  "  The 
Vision  of  the  Man  Accurst,"  354. 

Book  of  the  Poets,  Mrs.  Browning's,  240. 

Books,  and  reading,  effect  upon  the  young 
imagination,  117. 

Bothie  of  Tober-na-Vuolich,  dough's,  244. 

Both-well,  Aytoun's,  250. 

Both-well,  Swinburne's,  290  ;  reviewed,  406  - 
410 ;  an  epic  in  dramatic  form,  406, 
407 ;  notable  passages,  407 ;  absence  of 
mannerism,  408  ;  extracts  from,  408,  409  ; 
general  characteristics,  410  ;  and  see  389, 

394- 

Bothwick,  Jane,  278. 

Bowles,  William  Lisle,  235. 

Bowring,  Sir  John,  274. 

Boyd,  Hugh  Stuart,  his  friendship  with 
Mrs.  Browning,  119. 

"  Boythorn,"  portrait  of  Landor,  by  Dick 
ens,  57. 

Breeding,  272. 

"  Bridge  of  Sighs,"  Hood's,  86 ;  its  purity 
and  pathos,  87,  88. 

Broderip,  Mrs.,  88. 

Bronte,  Charlotte,  120. 

Bronte  Sisters,  253. 

Brown,  Armitage,  37. 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  52. 

Browne,  William,  232. 

Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett,  5,  30,  38 ;  re 


view  of  her  life  and  writings,  114-149; 
her  spiritual  temperament,  114  ;  the  great 
est  female  poet,  115  ;  unmarried  life,  116 
-132;  birth,  116;  Essay  on  Mind,  116; 
early  training,  117-120  ;  friendship  with 
Hugh  S.  Boyd,  119;  classical  studies, 
119,  121  ;  portrait  by  Miss  Mitford,  119; 
general  culture,  120 ;  compared  with 
other  female  writers,  120  ;  her  scholarship 
not  pedantic,  121 ;  Prometheus  Bound, 
and  Miscellaneous  Poems,  121 ;  Para 
phrases  on  Theocritus,  etc.,  122  ;  her  clas 
sicism,  122  ;  distinct  from  Landor's,  122  ; 
prolonged  illness  and  seclusion,  123; 
friendship  with  Mary  Russell  Mitford, 
123 ;  The  Seraphim  and  other  Poems, 
123, 124  ;  The  Romaunt  of  the  Page,  123  ; 
Essays  on  the  Greek-Christian  and  Eng 
lish  Poets,  123, 124  ;  first  collective  edition 
of  her  poems,  124  ;  The  Drama  of  Exile, 
124;  reviewed,  127-129;  characteristics 
as  an  English  poet,  124-127;  her  early 
style,  124;  disadvantages  of  over-culture, 
124 ;  compared  to  Shelley,  124  ;  her  ballads 
and  minor  lyrics,  124,  125 ;  "  Rhyme  of 
the  Duchess  May,"  125  ;  her  diction,  126 ; 
lack  of  taste,  126 ;  nobility  of  feeling,  126  ; 
defective  art,  126;  clouded  vision,  127; 
transcendentalism,  127  ;  knowledge  of  He 
brew,  127  ;  minor  lyrics,  129  ;  humanitarian 
poems,  129;  "Lady  Geraldine's  Court 
ship,"  130 ;  end  of  her  formative  career, 
131  ;  improving  health,  131 ;  her  meeting 
with  Robert  Browning,  131  ;  courtship  and 
marriage,  132  ;  Mr.  Barrett's  opposition  to 
the  nuptials,  132,  133  ;  complete  woman 
hood,  133  ;  her  years  of  married  life,  133  - 
149 ;  the  wedded  poets,  136 ;  summit  of 
Mrs.  Browning's  greatness,  136;  primary 
and  beneficent  influence  of  wedlock,  136  ; 
Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese,  137,  138  ; 
compared  with  "  In  Memoriam,"  138 ; 
her  devotion  to  Italy,  138 ;  Casa  Guidi 
Windows,  136, 139  ;  lines  to  her  son,  139 ; 
revised  edition  of  her  poems,  1856,  140; 
delightful  residence  in  Italy,  140  ;  Aurora 


42O 


INDEX. 


Leigh,  136;  reviewed,  140-142;  Mrs. 
Browning's  period  of  decline  in  health 
and  creative  power,  143,  322 ;  secondary 
influence  of  her  married  life,  143  ;  Poems 
before  Congress,  143 ;  contributions  to 
the  Independent,  143  ;  Last  Poems,  144  ; 
final  estimate  of  her  genius,  144-149; 
her  qualities  as  an  artist,  144 ;  contrasted 
with  Tennyson,  144,  145 ;  her  over-pos 
session,  145,  incertitude,  145,  spontaneity, 
145,  use  of  the  refrain,  145,  dangerous  fa 
cility,  146,  lack  of  humor,  146,  satirical 
power,  146,  slight  idyllic  tendency,  146 ; 
her  sympathetic  and  religious  nature,  147  ; 
her  personal  sweetness,  147 ;  subjective 
quality  of  her  writings,  147;  represents 
her  sex  in  the  Victorian  era,  148;  her 
faith  in  inspiration,  148,  her  exaltation 
and  rapture,  148,  belief  in  the  doctrines  of 
Swedenborg,  148  ;  her  death,  149  ;  poetry 
addressed  to  her  by  her  husband,  333; 
and  see  198,  222,  315,  320. 
Browning,  Robert,  characteristics,  30 ;  first 
acquaintance  with  Miss  Barrett,  131  ; 
courtship  and  marriage,  132 ;  good  and 
bad  effects  upon  his  wife's  style,  136,  143, 
144 ;  imitated  by  Thorn  bury,  252  ;  influ 
ence  on  minor  poets,  265  ;  Neo-Romantic 
influence,  281 ;  review  of  his  career  and 
writings,  293-341;  an  original,  unequal 
poet,  293,  338  ;  birth,  293  ;  three  aspects 
of  his  genius,  293 ;  analysis  of  his  dra 
matic  gift,  294  -  296 ;  represents  the  new 
dramatic  element,  294;  not  dramatic  in 
the  early  sense  of  the  term,  294,  295  ;  his 
own  personality  visible  in  all  his  charac 
ters,  296  ;  mannerism,  296  ;  stage-plays 
not  his  best  work,  296 ;  his  chief  success 
in  portrayal  of  single  characters  and 
moods,  296  ;  his  special  mission,  297  ;  the 
poet  of  psychology,  297 ;  founder  of  a 
sub-dramatic  school,  297 ;  his  style  and 
method,  297-301  ;  eccentricity,  297;  im 
pression  left  by  his  work,  300  ;  the  same, 
as  stated  by  a  clear  thinker,  300  ;  his  de 
fective  and  capricious  expression,  301 ; 


style  of  his  early  and  latest  works,  301 ; 
his  apparent  theory,  301 ;  vigorous  early 
lyrics,  302 ;  the  "  Cavalier  Tunes,"  stir 
rup-pieces,  "  Herve  Riel,"  "  The  Pied 
Piper,"  etc.,  302 ;  evils  of  his  general 
style,  303 ;  mutual  influence  of  himself 
and  his  wife,  303 ;  the  two  poets  com 
pared,  303  ;  his  disregard  of  the  fitness  of 
things,  304  ;  excessive  detail,  304  ;  irrev 
erent  to  art,  304;  crude  realism,  304; 
at  the  London  University,  305 ;  goes  to 
Italy,  305;  Paracelsus,  305-308;  recog 
nition  gained  by  it,  305  ;  its  garrulity,  306 ; 
fine  thought  and  diction,  306  -  308 ;  Straf- 
ford,  308,  309 ;  intended  as  a  stage-play, 
308 ;  enacted  by  Macready,  309 ;  Sordello, 
309,  310 ;  Bells  and  Pomegranates,  310- 
319;  "Luria,"  310-312;  the  poet's  fa 
vorite  type  of  hero,  310;  Landor's  verses 
to  Browning,  311 ;  "  The  Return  of  the 
Druses,"  312,  313;  good  dramatic  effects, 
312;  the  author's  classicism,  313;  his 
debt  to  Italy,  313;  "King  Victor  and 
King  Charles,"  313;  three  dramatic  mas 
terpieces,  313;  "  Colombe's  Birthday," 
313,  314;  "A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon," 
314;  a  song  resembling  Mrs.  Browning's 
style,  315;  "  Pippa  Passes,"  reviewed, 
quoted,  with  notice  of  its  faults  and  beau 
ties,  315  -319 ;  "  A  Soul's  Tragedy,"  319 ; 
the  poet  foregoes  strictly  dramatic  poetry ; 
319;  dramatic  nature  of  his  lyrics,  320; 
originality  in  rejecting  the  idyllic  method, 
320 ;  founder  of  the  new  life-school,  320 ; 
more  realistic  than  imaginative,  321 ;  his 
genius  not  of  the  highest  order,  321 ; 
Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics,  321  ; 
"  My  Last  Duchess,"  321 ;  Men  and 
Women,  and  Dramatis  Persona,  321- 
329 ;  inferiority  of  the  last-named  volume, 
322  ;  excellence  of  the  former,  322  ;  thrill 
ing  dramatic  studies,  322;  mediaeval 
themes,  322  ;  "  Andrea  del  Sarto,"  "  Fra 
Lippo  Lippi,"  etc.,  322,  323 ;  dangerous 
facility  of  diction,  324 ;  "  Christmas  Eve  " 
and  "  Easter  Day,"  324 ;  excellent  me- 


INDEX. 


421 


diaeval  church  studies,  324,  352  ;  their 
truth  and  subtilty,  324 ;  "  The  Heretic's 
Tragedy,"  etc.,  325  ;  studies  upon  themes 
taken  from  the  first  century,  325,  326; 
"  Cleon,"  "  A  Death  in  the  Desert,"  etc., 
326;  defect  of  these  pieces,  327  ;  his  sub 
tilty  of  intellect,  327 ;  "  Caliban,"  "  Bishop 
Blougram,"  etc.,  327,  328;  occasional 
lyrics,  328,  imitated  by  younger  poets, 
328,  their  beauty,  328,  landscape,  328,  and 
suggestiveness,  329  ;  moral  of  this  poet's 
emotional  and  erotic  verse,  329,  330 ;  ra 
tionalistic  freedom,  329 ;  admired  by  those 
who  reject  Swinburne,  330;  subjective 
undertone  of  his  "  Dramatic  Lyrics," 
330 ;  "  In  a  Balcony,"  331 ;  teaches  obe 
dience  to  passional  instincts,  332 ;  "  The 
Statue  and  the  Bust,"  332  ;  perfect  union 
with  his  wife,  333;  poetry  addressed  to 
her,  333,  335  ;  faulty  quality  of  many 
lyrics,  334;  The  Ring  and  the  Book, 
334-336;  occasional  likeness  to  Tenny 
son.  335  ;  Balaustion 's  Adventure,  336 ; 
Fifine  at  the  Fair,  336 ;  increasing  ten 
dency  to  prosaic  work,  337 ;  Red  Cotton 
Night-Cap  Country,  337  ;  evils  of  an  un 
wise  method,  337  ;  Aristophanes'  Apology, 
338 ;  final  estimate  of  his  genius,  338  - 
341 ;  unconventional  spirit  of  his  verse, 
338 ;  a  true  fellow-craftsman,  339 ;  rich, 
yet  barbaric,  taste,  339 ;  does  not  perfect 
his  ideal,  339 ;  evil  results  of  his  lawless 
ness,  ^40 ;  feeling  engendered  by  his  re 
cent  work,  340  :  minute  dramatic  insight, 
340  ;  is  his  the  "  poetry  of  the  future  "  ? 
341 ;  opinions  as  to  his  ultimate  rank  as 
a  poet,  341 ;  his  style  and  Swinburne's 
compared,  382;  and  see  38,  47,  57,62, 
167,  168,  187,  249,  256,  257,  290,  291, 
352>  384,  386>  4°2,  413. 

Brownings,  the  two,  2 ;  friendship  with 
Landor,  38 ;  effect  on  each  other's  style, 
303  ;  and  see  333,  344. 

Browning  and  Rossetti,  leaders  of  the  new 
romantic  school,  6. 

Bryant,    William    Cullen,    translator    of 


Homer,   276;    pastorals,   349;    and   see 
American  Poets. 

Buchanan,  Robert,  264 ;  his  antagonistic 
position,  345  ;  birth,  346  ;  poetic  tempera 
ment,  346;  represents  the  Scottish  ele 
ment,  346;  religious  aspiration,  346; 
transcendentalism,  347  ;  library  edition  of 
his  works,  347  ;  how  far  a  pupil  of  Words 
worth,  and  the  Lake  School,  347;  ine 
quality,  347  ;  purpose  and  originality,  348  ; 
lack  of  restraint,  348  ;  Undertones,  348  ; 
classicism,  348 ;  Idyls  and  Legends  of  y 
Inverburn,  348-350;  his  fidelity  to  Na 
ture,  349;  pastoral  verse,  349,  350;  ^ 
North-Coast  poems,  350  ;  London  Poems, 
35°»  35  *  >  "  The  Scairth  o'  Bartle,"  352 ; 
humorous  verse,  etc.,  352;  The  Book  of 
Orm,  352  -  354  ;  its  mysticism,  faults,  and 
beauties,  353,  354 ;  Napoleon  Fallen, 

354  ;  The  Drama  of  Kings,  354  ;  reform 
atory  work,  355;   St.  Abe,  355;    White 
Rose  and  Red,  355  ;  his  prose  writings, 

355  ;  stage-plays,  355  ;  faults  of  judgment 
and   style,   355,   356;    "The   Ballad   of 
Judas   Iscariot,"  356 ;   "  Coruisken  Son 
nets,"  356;  estimate  of  his  genius  and 
prospects,  356. 

"  Bugle-Song,"  Tennyson's,  102. 

Bulwers,  the  two,  268 ;  and  see  Edivard, 
Lord  Lytton  and  Robert,  Lord  Lytton. 

Bunyan,  176. 

Burbidge,  Thomas,  243. 

Burlesque,  272,  273. 

Burns,  3,  22,  40,  219,  240. 

Byron,  sentiment  of  his  school,  4,  412  ;  at 
Harrow,  103  ;  contrasted  with  Tennyson, 
196-198;  their  difference  in  method, 
perception,  imagination,  and  subjectivity, 
197,  in  influence,  198;  his  dramas,  295, 
296;  and  see  22,  34,  39,  41,  57,  74,  99, 
104,  105,  107,  154,  189,  198,  199,  203, 
235»  237,  240,  312,  366,  381,  390,  391, 
411,412. 

CALLIMACHUS,  a  saying  of,  377. 
Calverley,  Charles  Stuart,  his  Fly-Leaves, 


422 


INDEX. 


J  273 ;  Translation  of  Theocritus,  224, 
275. 

Calvinism,  329. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  198,  235. 

Canning,  George,  238. 

Caprice,  hurtful  to  Expression,  301. 

Gary,  Henry  Francis,  235. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  37,  257 ;  on  Sterling,  243  ; 
Sartor  Resartus,  310. 

Casa  Guidi  Windows,  Mrs.  Browning's, 
136;  reviewed,  139. 

Caswall,  Edward,  277. 

Catullus,  60,  69,  224,  226,  273. 

"  Cavalier  Tunes,"  Browning's,  302. 

Cenci,  The,  Landor's,  69. 

Cenci,  The,  Shelley's,  41. 

Chandler,  John,  277. 

Chapman,  George,  122,  274,  401. 

Charicles,  Becker's,  52. 

Charitable  Dowager,  Landor's,  41. 

Chartist  Verse,  261,  262. 

Chastelard,  Swinburne's,  386,  389  ;  re 
viewed,  404  -  406  ;  a  romantic  historical 
drama,  404;  its  ideal  of  Mary  Stuart, 
405  ;  a  strongly  emotional  play,  405. 

Chaucer,  28,  381 ;  the  master  of  Morris, 
370,  et  seq. 

Chaucerian  metres,  heroic,  sestina,  and 
octosyllabic,  372,  373. 

Chaucerian  Period,  209. 

Choric  Verse,  in  Atalanta,  387,  388. 

"  Christmas  Eve,"  Browning's,  324. 

Church  Studies,  Browning's,  324,  325. 

Cicero,  upon  Death,  152. 

Citation  of  Shakespeare,  Landor's,  51. 

Clare,  John,  235. 

Classical  Studies,  Mrs.  Browning's,  118- 
120. 

Classicism,  in  poetry,  4 ;  Landor's,  43,  62 ; 
must  be  liberal,  not  pedantic,  121 ;  Ten 
nyson's,  225,  226;  contrasted  with  the 
Gothic  method,  313;  the  unities,  313; 
Italian  classicism,  313;  Browning's,  336, 
338 ;  Buchanan's,  348 ;  in  Swinburne's 
early  poems,  393;  and  see  Atalanta, 
Keats,  Shelley,  etc. 


Climacterics  in  art-life,  164. 

Closet-Drama,  The,  296. 

Clough,  Arthur  Hugh,  Arnold's  "Scholar 

Gypsey,"  98;  life  and  work,  243,  244; 

compared  to  Sterling,  243 ;  his  hexameter 

poem,  244 ;  and  see  396. 
Cockney  School,  103. 
Coleridge,  Hartley,  241,  243. 
Coleridge,  S.  T.,  his  definition  of  Poetry,  9 ; 

and  see  34,  36,  37,  74,  99,  180,  203,  235, 

382,  401. 

Collins,  22,  66,  361,  382. 
Colombe's  Birthday,  Browning's,  311,313, 

3H. 

Color,  362 ;  Browning's  sense  of,  339. 
Comic  Annual,  Hood's,  78,  82,  89. 
Comic  Poetry,  a  misnomer,  78. 
Composers,   musical:    Byrd,   Wilbye,  and 

Weelkes,  102. 
Composite  School,  otherwise  the  Idyllic,  5  ;  >/ 

Tennyson  its  master,   5;  and  see  204, 

219,  271,  342,  413. 

Comrades  in  Art,  the  Rossetti  group,  357. 
Conscientiousness  in  Art,  defective  in  Mrs. 

Browning,   145 ;   Rossetti's,  361 ;   Swin 
burne's  in  Both-well,  406. 
Conservatism,  Tennyson's,  192. 
Construction,  286 ;  its  relations  to  Decora 
tion,  289. 
Contemplative     Poets.      See    Meditative 

School 

Contes  Drolatiques,  Balzac's,  324. 
Conventionalism,  Browning's  disregard  of, 

333>  338. 
Cook,  Eliza,  259. 
Cooper,  Thomas,  261. 
Coruisken  Sonnets,  Buchanan's,  356. 
Counterparts,  Literary,  203,  211  ;  and  see 

throughout  Chapter  VI. 
Count  Julian,  Landor's,  41. 
Cowper,  22,  40,  58;  his  blank-verse,  161. 
Cox,  Frances  Elizabeth,  278. 
Crabbe,  162. 
Craig,  Isa,  280. 

Craik,  Dinah  Maria  Mulock,  254. 
Cranch,  Christopher  Pearse,  275. 


INDEX. 


423 


Criticism,  its  province,  4 ;  Lander's  powers 
of,  64 ;  comparative,  its  use  and  abuse, 
72;  Arnold's,  99;  poets  as  critics  of 
poetry,  99;  Tennyson  and  his  critics, 

v/151-1535  verbal,  239;  defects  of  recent, 
286 ;  Swinburne  and  his  critics,  390,  391 ; 
Swinburne's  critical  genius  and  essays, 
401-404 ;  duty  of  the  critic,  411,  414. 

Croly,  George,  235. 

Cromwellian  Period,  28,  115. 

Cruikshank,  George,  85. 

Culture,  effect  upon  spontaneity,  3;  on 
creative  art,  23,  406;  the  recent  period 
of,  23  ;  over-restraint,  24  ;  breeding,  24  ; 
school  of  culture,  90 ;  good  effect  in  case 
of  Mrs.  Browning,  1 20 ;  over-training,  248  ; 
criticism  and  scholarship,  343 ;  poetry 
for  cultured  people,  398. 

Cunningham,  Allan,  235. 

"  Cyclops,"  imitated  by  Tennyson,  228. 

DANTE,  n,  51,  170,  276,  375;  Rossetti's 

translations,  360. 
Darley,  George,  2,  47,  191,  236,  249;  his 

melody,  365. 
Darwin,  Charles,  20. 
Davis,  Thomas,  260. 
Death  of  Marlowe,  Horne's,  248. 
Death's  Jest-Book,  Beddoes',  237. 
Decoration,  and  Construction,  286,  289. 
Defence  of  Gueneverc,  Morris's,  367,  368, 

370- 

Democratic  Poets,  260;  often  of  aristo 
cratic  birth,  400. 

De  Musset,  Alfred,  compared  with  Tenny 
son,  195. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  his  estimate  of  Lan- 
dor,  6^,  67  ;  style,  401. 

Derby,  Edward,  Lord,  275. 

Descriptive  Faculty  and  Verse,  Tennyson's, 
188  ;  Hamerton's,  246 ;  Browning's,  307  ; 
Buchanan's,  349  ;  Morris's,  368,  369. 

Design,  Arts  of,  368. 

De  Vere,  Aubrey,  242. 

Dialect-Verse,  Tennyson's,  181 ;  miscella 
neous,  279. 


Dickens,  38  ;  portrait  of  Landor,  57;  com 
pared  to  Hood,  84-86. 

Diction,  Hood's,  88;  Tennyson's,  179; 
Miss  Barrett's,  126;  Mrs.  Lewes',  254; 
of  Paracelsus,  306 ;  Rossetti's  revival  of 
old  English,  361 ;  Morris's  and  Swin 
burne's,  379,  381. 

Didacticism,  4,  242,  413. 

Dilettanteism,  59,  290;  Goethe  and  Ar 
nold  upon,  96. 

Discords,  certain  effects  of,  383. 

Disraeli,  Isaac,  51. 

Dithyrambic  Verse,  and  quality,  381,  388. 

Dobell,  Sydney,  267,  328. 

Dobson,  Austin,  273. 

Domett,  Alfred,  his  Blackwood  Lyrics, 
256  ;  Browning's  characterization  of,  256 ; 
Ranolf  and  Amohia,  257. 

Don  Juan,  Byron's,  141. 

Dore,  Les  Contes  Drdlatiques,  324. 

Downing,  Mary,  259. 

Doyle,  Sir  Francis  Hastings,  253. 

Drama  of  Exile,  Miss  Barrett's,  124,  127 
-129. 

Drama  of  Kings,  Buchanan's,  347,  354. 

"Dramatic  Fragments,"  Procter's,  113. 

Dramatic  Periods:  The  early  drama,  294, 
295  ;  Queen  Anne's  time,  295  ;  the  re 
cent  aspect,  294-296. 

Dramatic  Poetry,  and  Poets :  Landor's  dra 
matic  genius  and  verse,  41,  42,47,48; 
Procter's,  106,  107 ;  lyrical  interludes  in 
dramatic  verse,  109,  —  their  relation,  109; 
Procter  a  dramatic  song-writer,  109 ; 
Tennyson's  genius  not  essentially  dra 
matic,  189-191;  this  opinion  confirmed 
by  Qiteen  Mary,  413;  Bulwer's  plays, 
255  ;  Browning  chief  of  the  recent  school, 
294 ;  his  dramatic  genius,  294 ;  Proc 
ter's  definition  of  the  dramatic  faculty, 
294  ;  the  true  historic  era,  294 ;  Byron's 
dramas,  296  ;  Browning's  dramatic  lyrics, 
296,  320,  et  seq. ;  dramatic  effects  in  The 
Return  of  the  Druses,  312 ;  subjective 
moral  of  Browning's  lyrics,  330 ;  his 
minute  insight,  340  ;  Rossetti's  dramatic 


424 


INDEX. 


gift,  365  ;  constituents  of  great  dramatic 
verse,  413. 

"  Dramatic  Romances  and  Lyrics,"  Brown 
ing's,  321. 

Dramatic  Scenes,  Procter's,  preface  to, 
103 ;  reviewed,  105. 

Dramatic  School,  New,  5,  6,  31  ;  outlook 
in  America,  291 ;  need  of  a  revival,  344. 

Dramatis  Persona,  Browning's,  304 ;  re 
viewed,  321-329;  inferior  to  Men  and 
Women,  322  ;  faulty  lyrics,  334. 

Dray  ton,  180. 

"  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram,"  Hood's,  84,  86. 

Drury  Lane  Theatre,  314. 

Dryden,  185,  232,  275. 

Dry  Sticks  Fagoted,  Landor's,  70. 

Dublin  Newspaper  Press,  260. 

Dublin  University  Magazine,  255. 

Dufferin,  Countess  of,  260. 

Duffy,  Charles  Gavan,  260. 

Dunciad,  The,  186. 

Du'rer,  Albert,  362. 

EARLY  ITALIAN  POETS,  translations  by 
Rossetti,  276,  360. 

Early  promise,  men  of,  256. 

Earnestness,  Rossetti's,  362. 

Earthly  Paradise,  Morris's,  reviewed,  372 
-378;  epic  rather  than  dramatic,  372; 
a  treasury  of  historic  myths  and  legends, 
372  ;  its  fascination,  372,  377 ;  Chauce 
rian  verse,  372,  373 ;  clear  expression, 
374 ;  a  virtuoso's  poem,  374 ;  enormous 
length,  375,  377  ;  harmonic  plan,  375  ; 
moral,  375-  377. 

Ease  of  Circumstances  favorable  to  art, 
in  Tennyson's  case,  199 ;  effect  on 
Swinburne,  410. 

"  Easter-Day,"  Browning's,  324. 

Eccentricity  not  a  proof  of  genius,  297. 

Edmeston,  James,  277. 

Elegance,  Poetic,  Landor's,  44,  45. 

Elegiac  Verse,  Linton's  "  Threnody,"  271  ; 
and  see  Adonais,  Ave  atque  Vale,  Epi 
taph  of  Bion,  Lycidas,  Thyrsis,  etc. 

Elizabethan  Period,  n,  28,  no,  115,  209, 


248;  its  dramatic  style,  47,  413;  songs 
and  lyrics,  102,  104  ;  allegory,  176  ;  Mrs. 
Browning  on,  240  ;  style  caught  by  Swin 
burne  in  his  early  dramas,  384,  385. 

Elliott,  Charlotte,  278. 

Elliott,  Ebehezer,  83,  235. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  37, 112, 179  ;  Essay 
on  "  The  Poet,"  27  ;  on  tradition  and 
invention,  164 ;  on  imitation  and  origi 
nality,  232  ;  his  method,  301 ;  and  see 
American  Poets. 

Emotion,  new  school  of,  297  ;  in  Browning's 
verse,  329  ;  a  source  of  strength,  333. 

English  Idyls,  Tennyson's,  162;  how  far 
modelled  on  Theocritus,  217-219. 

English  Language,  adapted  for  translation 
of  the  Greek,  275. 

English  Songs,  —  Procter's,  109 ;  reviewed, 
109-113;  their  virile  quality,  in;  con 
vivial,  in;  delicacy  and  pathos,  112; 
great  variety,  112. 

Enoch  Arden,  Tennyson's,  177,  181,  189. 

Erotic  Verse,  Swinburne's,  395. 

Essay  on  Mind,  Miss  Barrett's,  116. 

Euripides,  348;  translated  by  Browning, 
336,  338. 

Evans,  Sebastian,  282. 

Eve  of  St.  Agnes,  Keats's,  341,  367. 

Excess,  Swinburne's,  392,  395. 

Execution,  383. 

Expression,  the  aim  of  recent  poetry,  13 ; 
of  Tennyson's  early  works,  156;  greater 
than  invention  among  the  minor  poets, 
287 ;  the  poet's  special  office,  298 ;  the 
flower  of  thought,  301 ;  brilliant  quality 
of  Swinburne's,  379  ;  carried  to  excess  by 
him,  382,  383. 

Extravagance,  66 ;  of  fantasy  in  Hood, 
85  ;  Swinburne's,  392. 

Excursion,  Wordsworth's,  imitated  by  Al- 
ford,  242. 

FABER,  FREDERICK  WILLIAM,  278. 
Facility,  146 ;  injurious  to  Browning,  324 ; 

Morris's,  377. 
Faery  Queene,  The,  180. 


INDEX. 


425 


"  Fair  Ines?  Hood's  ballad,  76. 

Fame,  Lander's,  66. 

Fantastic  Verse,  285. 

u  Farringford  School."     See  Idyllic  Poetry. 

Fatalism,  of  Morris's  poetry,  375,  377 ;  its 

adverse  effect,  377 ;  of  Swinburne's  Ata- 

lanta,  387. 

"  Father  Prout."     See  Francis  Mahoney. 
Faitst,  compared  with  Paracelsus,  305. 
Fazio,  Milman's,  236. 
Feeling,  high  quality  of  Mrs.  Browning's, 

126. 

Fellow-craftsmanship,  Browning  on,  339. 
Female   Poets,  120,  254,  279-281;  their 

independence  and  emotion,  279. 
Festus,  Bailey's,  263. 
Field,  Kate,  her  portrait  of  Landor,  in  The 

Atlantic  Monthly,  70. 
Fifine  at  the  Fair,  Browning's,  336-337, 

340. 

Figure-School.     See  Life  School 
Findlater,  Eric  Both  wick,  278. 
"  Finola,"  (Mrs.  Varian;,  260. 
Firmilian,  Aytoun's,  262,  285. 
First-Century    Studies,    Browning's,    325, 

326. 

Fiske,  John,  372. 
P"itness  of  Things,  Tennyson's  sense  of, 

187  ;  Browning's  disregard  of,  304. 
FitzGerald,  Edward,  276,  398. 
Fitz-Gerald,  Maurice  Purcell,  275. 
Fletcher,  John,  n,  102,  236,  294. 
Fletcher  of  Saltoun,  his  famous  saying,  260. 
"Flower,  The,"  Tennyson's,  152,  212. 
Fly-Leaves,  Calverley's,  273. 
Foote,  Miss,  the  actress,  107. 
Form,  Browning's  lack  of,  339. 
Forster,  John,  biographer  of  Landor,  37 ; 

upon  Gcbir,  40 ;  and  see  49,  57,  60,  69. 
Fourier,  Charles,  theory  of  the  passions,  56  ; 

his  famous  apothegm,  329. 
Fox,  W.  J.,  257. 
Franco-Sapphic  School,  396. 
Fra  Rupert,  Lander's,  42. 
Fraser's  Magazine,  255. 
Freedom,  Browning's  ideal  of,  308 ;  limits 


of,  in  Art,  339  ;  radicalism  of  Swinburne's, 

392. 

French  Influence,  upon  Swinburne,  384, 393. 
French  School,  380. 
Frere,  John  Hookham,  235,  274. 
Fuller,  Margaret,  62. 

GARIBALDI,  64,  400. 

Garrulity,  Browning's,  306,  324. 

Gautier,  Theophile,  Memorial  to,  398. 

Gay,  John,  232. 

Gebir,  Lander's,  39,  40,  68. 

Gebirus,  Latin  version  of  the  foregoing,  41. 

Genius,  its  independence,  i ;  needs  appre 
ciation,  68  ;  unconscious  training  of,  118  ; 
certain  men  of,  unsuited  to  their  period, 
236,  249  ;  peculiarity  of  Browning's,  293  ; 
distinguished  from  talent,  321 ;  Rossetti 
a  man  of,  359 ;  genius  to  be  judged  at  its 
best,  411 ;  freedom  of,  412. 

Gentleman's  Magazine,  48. 

"  George  Eliot."  See  Marian  Evans  Lewes. 

Georgian  Period,  34,  115;  contrasted  with 
the  Victorian,  196 ;  revival  of  poetry  in, 
240,  241 ;  sentiment  and  passion  of,  412. 

Gcsta  Romanorum,  372. 

Gifford,  William,  286. 

Gilfillan,  Robert,  259. 

Giovanna  of  Naples,  Lander's,  42. 

"  Godiva,"  compared  to  "  Hylas,"  211,  213. 

Goethe,  quoted,  20 ;  on  dilettanteism,  96, 
341 ;  English  translators  of,  276;  on  dis 
tinction  between  the  artist  and  the  ama 
teur,  289  ;  and  see  37,  99,  192. 

Goldsmith,  22,  66. 

Gothic  Methods  and  Studies,  313,  392. 

"  Grand  Manner,  The,"  93. 

Gray,  David,  245,  264,  265  ;  friendship  with 
Buchanan,  348. 

Gray,  Thomas,  40,  66,  382. 

Greatness  in  Art,  how  constituted,  341. 

Greece,  spirit  of  her  idealism,  TO  ;  rise  and 
decline  of  her  poetry,  238,  239  ;  England 
compared  to,  239. 

Greek-Christian  Poets,  read  and  annotated 
by  Mrs.  Browning,  120,  123. 


426 


INDEX. 


Greek  Idyls,  201  -  233.  See  Tennyson  and 
Theocritus  ;  also,  Bion  and  Moschus. 

Greek  and  Latin  Verses,  Lander's,  43,  62  ; 
Swinburne's,  398,  399 ;  the  latter's  state 
ment  of  their  value  to  the  maker,  399. 

Griffin,  Gerald,  260. 

"Guenevere,"  Tennyson's,  177,  178. 

Guido,  his  "  Aurora,"  9,  10. 

HAKE,  THOMAS  GORDON,  282. 

Hallam,  Arthur  Henry,  237,  243. 

Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert,  246,  368. 

Hannibal,  Prof.  Nichol's,  255. 

Hare,  the  brothers  Francis  and  Julius,  37. 

"Haunted  House,"  Hood's,  84. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  366. 

Hawtrey,  Edward  Craven,  275. 

Hazlitt,  William,  37. 

Hebraism,  Browning's,  325  ;   Swinburne's, 

387,  393- 

Hebrew  language,  Miss  Barrett's  study  of, 
127. 

Hemans,  Mrs.,  120,  237. 

Heine,  his  idealism,  18;  the  Reisebilder, 
356;  and  see  92,  113. 

Hellenics,  Landor's,  39,  42-45. 

Herbert,  George,  28,  283. 

Herder,  a  saying  of  Jean  Paul,  147. 

Heroic  Idyls,  Landor's,  70. 

Herrick,  Robert,  76. 

Hervey,  Thomas  Kibble,  256. 

Hesiod,  205. 

Hexameter  Verse,  the  Pastoral  or  Bucolic, 
211,  227;  Clough's,  244;  Kingsley's  and 
Hawtrey 's,  251. 

Heywood,  Thomas,  102. 

Hillard,  George  S.,  143. 

Hillard,  Kate,  104. 

Hogarth,  his  method  in  Art,  351. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  273. 

Homer,  method  of,  9,  178;  Arnold  on 
translating,  99  ;  Tennyson  as  a  translator 
of,  182;  his  simplicity,  267;  English 
translations  of,  275  ;  imitated  by  Morris, 
370  ;  and  see  161,  204,  205,  215. 

Hood's  Magazine,  82,  86. 


Hood,  Thomas,  review  of  his  life  and 
writings,  72  -  90  ;  the  poet  of  sympathy, 
72  ;  of  the  crowd,  73 ;  his  birth,  73  ;  char 
acter  and  genius,  73,  74  ;  early  life,  74  ; 
youthful  career  as  a  writer,  74,  75  ;  early 
poems  in  the  manner  of  Spenser,  75 ; 
their  beauties  and  defects,  75  ;  his  exqui 
site  lyrical  ballads,  imaginative  odes,  etc., 
76  j  these  more  truly  poetical  than  work 
of  the  verbal  school,  76 ;  his  humor,  77 ; 
Odes  and  Addresses,  Whims  and  Oddi 
ties,  London  Magazine,  etc.,  77 ;  a  jester 
by  profession,  77  ;  Hood's  Own,  and  the 
Comic  Annuals,  78 ;  his  poorer  verse 
and  prose,  78  ;  "  Ode  to  Rae  Wilson,"  78  ; 
Miss  Kilmansegg,  79,  80;  a  sustained, 
powerful,  and  unique  satire,  ibid. ;  Thack 
eray  and  Hood,  80 ;  detrimental  effect  of 
poverty  upon  his  work,  81 ;  a  journalist- 
poet,  82 ;  London's  poet,  83 ;  his  under 
standing  of  the  poor,  83 ;  Hood  and 
Dickens,  84-86;  similarity  of  their 
methods,  84 ;  alike  in  melodramatic  work, 
extravagance,  humane  feeling,  85,  86; 
"  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram,"  86 ;  "  Song 
of  the  Shirt,"  86,  87 ;  Bridge  of  Sighs," 
87,  88  ;  general  characteristics,  88  ;  Mrs. 
Broderip's  Memorials,  88 ;  his  wife,  89 ; 
his  closing  hours,  89;  sympathy  of  the 
English  people,  89  ;  his  death,  90  ;  monu 
ment  to  his  memory,  90 ;  and  see  5,  26, 
56,  91,  92,  103,  180,  199,  236,  238,  272. 

Horace,  200,  204,  273  ;  English  translations 
of,  274. 

Home,  Richard  Hengist,  2,  130;  genius 
and  works,  248-250;  dramas,  248;  tem 
perament,  249 ;  Orion,  249 ;  Ballad 
Romances,  249;  unsuited  to  his  period, 
249. 

Hough  ton,  Lord.     See  Milnes. 

House  of  Life,  Rossetti's,  366. 

Howells,  William  Dean,  251. 

Howitt,  William  and  Mary,  259. 

Hugo,  Victor,  165,  393,  400,  401. 

Humor,  Hood's,  73,  74,  77 ;  deficient  in 
Mrs.  Browning,  146;  Tennyson's,  163; 


INDEX. 


427 


Buchanan's,  352;  Swinburne's  lack  of, 

395- 

Hunt,  Holman,  358. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  his  poetic  mission,  103; 
estimate  of  his  quality  and  life,  103,  104  ; 
Hunt  and  Procter,  104;  and  see  37,  51, 
75,  106,236,257,274,411,412. 

Huxley,  T.  H.,  strictures  on  Expression,  13, 
26. 

"Hylas,"  compared  with  "Godiva,"  211- 
213  ;  and  see  398. 

Hymnology,  recent,  277,  278  ;  its  character 
istics,  277 ;  early  and  later  composers, 
277 ;  translations  of  the  Latin  and  Ger 
man  hymns,  277,  278. 

Hyperion,  Keats's,  40,  161,  249,  397. 

ICELANDIC  TRANSLATIONS,  by  Morris 
and  Magmisson,  371. 

Iconoclasm,  scientific,  7 ;  the  poet  not  an 
iconoclast,  300. 

Ideal,  how  conceived  and  perfected,  339. 

Ideality,  poetic,  18 ;  restrictions  to,  23; 
Lander's,  46 ;  of  Morris  and  Keats,  367. 

Idyllia  Heroica,  Landor's,  43. 

Idyllic  Period,  Dialect-verse  a  mark  of,  279. 

k    Idyllic  Poetry  and  School,  2,  4;  qualities 

-J*      of  the  school,  5  ;  Landor's  idyllic  verse, 

44 ;    Mrs.    Browning's    lack    of    idyllic 

quality,  146;  method  of  Tennyson,  159, 

187 ;  the  recent  school,  how  far  modelled 

upon  the  Alexandrian,  see  Tennyson  and 

"   Theocritus,  201  -  233  ;  the  true  idyl,  233, 

269 ;  minor  idyllic  poets,  269-271 ;  their 

v     strength  and  weakness,  269 ;  mission  of 

the  idyllists  nearly  ended,  342  ;  the  "  Far- 

ringford  School,"  345  ;  and  see  320,  413. 

Idyls  and  Lcgneds  of  Ini'erburn,  Buchan 
an's,  348-350;  compared  with  Words 
worth's  and  Tennyson's  idyls,  348  ;  their 
truth  to  nature,  349,  350. 

Idyls  of  the  King,  Tennyson's,  94 ;  re 
viewed,  175-180;  an  epic  of  ideal  chiv 
alry,  175 ;  based  on  Malory's  romance, 
176;  allegorical  tendency,  176;  grown 
from  a  series  of  idyls  to  an  epic,  177  ;  its 


early  and  later  blank-verse,  177  ;  "  Morte 
d' Arthur,"  and  the  four  succeeding  idyls, 
177,  178;  "  Gareth  and  Lynette,"  179; 
the  style  and  diction  of  this  poem,  1 79 ; 
the  subject,  180  ;  dedication,  187 ;  and  see 

220,  371. 

Imaginary  Conversations,  Landor's,  50,  59, 
63,  68,  70. 

Imagination,  its  action  in  youth,  117  ;  Miss 
Barrett's,  128  ;  recent  stimulants  to,  343  ; 
Rossetti's,  363,  365 ;  placid,  in  Morris, 
373>  374,  378  ;  Swinburne's,  397,  411. 

Imitation,  literary,  —  the  culling  process, 
215;  "  Owen  Meredith's,"  269;  and  see 
290. 

Importance,  law  of,  in  Art,  48. 

"In  a  Balcony,"  Browning's,  306,  331. 

Incertitude,  Mrs.  Browning's,  145. 

Independent,  The,  143. 

Independent  Singers,  among  minor  poets, 
248-253. 

Inequality,  293,  338. 

Ingelow,  Jean,  26,  280. 

Ingoldsby  Legends,  Barham's,  238. 

Ingram,  John  Kells,  260. 

In  Memoriam,  Tennyson's,  compared  with 
Mrs.  Browning's  sonnets,  138 ;  reviewed, 
1 68- 172  ;  the  greatest  of  elegies,  168  ;  its 
form  and  arrangement,  169 ;  a  national 
poem,  169;  rhythm,  169;  incorrect  esti 
mates  of,  1 70  ;  faith  and  doubt,  1 70  ;  use 
of  scientific  material,  170 ;  its  wisdom  and 
grief,  171 ;  general  quality,  171 ;  admired 
by  authors,  171 ;  landscape,  188  ;  and  see 
180,  193,  341. 

Inspiration,  Mrs.  Browning's  faith  in,  148. 

Intellectuality,  Landor's,  33 ;  of  Arnold's 
verse,  91  ;  Tennyson's,  167 ;  too  marked 
in  Pipfa  Passes,  318  ;  "  Caliban,"  327. 

Inversions,  361. 

"  Inverury  Poet,"  261. 

Ion,  Talfourd's,  236,  296. 

Irish  Minstrelsy,  259,  260. 

Irreverence  to  Art,  304. 

Isabella,  Keats's,  367. 

Isles  of  Loch  Awe,  Hamerton's,  246. 


428 


INDEX. 


Isometric  Songs,  in  The  Princess,  166;  na 
ture  of  their  mode,  218;  popularized  by 
Tennyson,  218. 

Italian  Period,  and  Influence,  u  ;  allegory, 
176;  Browning's  studies,  305,  313;  debt 
of  English  literature  to,  313  ;  effect  upon 
Rossetti,  360,  378. 

Italy,  Mrs.  Browning's  devotion  to,  138. 

"  JACOBITE  BALLADS,"  Thornbury's,  252. 

Jeffrey,  Francis,  Lord,  286. 

Jones,  Ebenezer,  261. 

Jones,  Ernest,  263. 

Jonson,  Ben,  76,  102,  236,  406. 

Journalism,  as  a  calling,  injurious  to  a  poet, 
8 1 ;  Hood  a  journalist-poet,  82  ;  instance 
of  an  editor,  82  ;  the  newspaper  age,  343. 

KEATS,  his  ideality,  18  ;  how  far  a  progeni 
tor  of  the  Victorian  School,  104,  105 ; 
influence  on  Tennyson,  155 ;  Morris  com 
pared  to,  367  ;  and  see  4,  5,  26,  31,  35,  40, 
74,  103,  104,  106,  121,  154,  157,  161,  167, 
180,  199,  209,  236,  240,  245,  299,  305,  320, 
348,  361,  380,  382,  396,  412. 

Keble,  John,  237. 

Keegan,  John,  260. 

Kemble,  Charles,  107. 

Kenyon,  John,  140. 

Kensal  Green  Cemetery,  83. 

King  Arthur,  Bulwer's,  255. 

Kingsley,  Charles,  26,  43,  92,  262 ;  upon 
Theocritus,  208 ;  his  poetic  works  and 
genius,  251. 

King  Victor  and  King  Charles,  Browning's, 

3i°,3i3- 

Knowles,  James  Sheridan,  236.     * 
Knox,  John,  Swinburne's  characterization, 

404,407-409. 
Kossuth,  62,  126. 

"  LADY  GERALDINE'S  COURTSHIP,"  Mrs. 

Browning's,  130,  315. 
La  Farge,  John,  362. 
La  Fontaine,  61. 
Lake  School,  242,  347,  390,  412. 


Lamb,  Charles,  37,  51,  103. 

Lancashire  Songs,  Waugh's,  279. 

Landon,  Miss,  120,  237. 

Landor,  Robert,  57. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage,  illustrating  growth 
of  the  art-school,  5  ;  quoted,  1 5 ;  review 
of  life  and  writings,  33-81 ;  a  pioneer  of 
the  Victorian  School,  33  ;  birth,  34  ;  pro 
longed  career,  34 ;  retention  of  power, 
34-36;  sustained  equality,  36;  univer 
sality,  36  ;  prose  and  poetry,  37  ;  deficient 
in  sympathy,  37 ;  friends,  37,  38 ;  early 
rhymed  productions,  39  ;  Poems,  English 
and  Latin,  39  ;  a  Moral  Epistle,  39  ;  Ge- 
bir,  40 ;  miscellaneous  pieces,  41 ;  dra 
matic  genius  and  work,  41-42,  47,  48; 
Count  Julian,  41  ;  the  Trilogy,  42  ;  the 
Hellenics,  42  -  44 ;  Idyllia  Heroica,  43  ; 
Poemata  et  Inscriptiones,  43  ;  Latin  verse, 
43,  45,  62  ;  qualities  as  an  artist,  44-47  ; 
blank-verse,  45  ;  lyrical  affluence,  46  ;  re 
strictions,  48,  49  ;  lack  of  theme,  49 ;  great 
as  a  writer  of  English  prose,  49;  Im 
aginary  Conversations,  50  ;  Citation  of 
Shakespeare,  51  ;  the  Pcntameron,  51  ; 
Pericles  and  Aspasia,  52-54;  personal 
history  and  character  considered,  54-71  ; 
temperament,  55,  56;  extraordinary  dis 
position  and  career,  55 ;  physical  gifts, 
56;  independence,  56,  57;  vivacity,  57; 
portrait  by  Dickens,  57  ;  an  amateur,  58  ; 
but  not  a  dilettant,  59;  -his  love  of 
nature,  60 ;  biography  by  Forster,  60 ; 
affection  for  animals,  61 ;  classicism,  62  ; 
radicalism,  62  ;  learning,  63  ;  republican 
ism,  64 ;  estimate  of  America,  64  ;  critical 
powers,  64 ;  technical  excellence,  65 ; 
poetic  extravagance,  66  ;  fame,  66 ;  desire 
for  appreciation,  67  ;  editions  of  his  works, 
66,  67 ;  Lines  to  Ablett,  68 ;  Landor  at 
seventy,  69;  Last  Fruit  off  an  old  Tree, 
69 ;  Dry  Sticks  Fagoted,  70 ;  Heroic 
Idyls,  70 ;  Landor  venerated  by  Kate 
Field,  A.  G.  Swinburne,  and  other  young 
admirers,  70,  71 ;  his  death,  71  ;  his  clas 
sicism  distinct  from  Mrs.  Browning's, 


INDEX. 


429 


122 ;  opinion  of  "  Aurora  Leigh,"  142  ; 
on  Shakespeare's  imitations,  232  ;  sonnet 
to  Browning,  311  ;  Swinburne  compared 
to,  384 ;  Swinburne's  stanzas  to,  396 ; 
and  see  4,  30,  99,  103,  167,  191,  198,  236, 
3°3>  336»  386>  398,  400,  412. 

Landscape.     See  Descriptive  Faculty. 

Languages,  the  Greek  and  English  con 
trasted,  206. 

Last  Fruit  off  an  Old  Tree,  Landor's,  69. 

Last  Poems,  Mrs.  Browning's,  144. 

Latest  Schools,  281 ;  decoration  a  main  end 
of,  286. 

Latin  Hymns,  277. 

Latin  Idyls,  Landor's,  translated,  69. 

Latin  Verse.    See  Greek  and  Latin  Verses. 

Latter-Day  Poets.  See  Chapters  X.  and 
XI. ;  their  position  and  embarrassments, 
342,  343;  remedial  efforts,  344;  dra 
matic  instinct,  344;  four  representative 
names,  345  ;  prodigal  of  verse,  345. 

Laureates,  Warton,  Pye,  etc.,  34;  Tenny 
son,  172. 

Lawlessness,  evils  of,  exemplified,  340,  341. 

Laws  of  Art,  their  beneficent  reaction,  339. 

Lays  of  Ancient  Rome,  Macaulay's,  250. 

Leadership  in  Art,  often  dependent  on  per 
sonal  bearing,  357. 

Learning,  Landor's,  63. 

Letter  from  a  young  English  poet,  299. 

Lewes,  Marian  Evans,  106,  120,  254. 

Lewis,  Tayler,  his  theory  of  classical 
study,  121. 

Life  and  Death  of  Jason,  Morris's,  370, 
37T. 

Life-Drama,  Smith's,  263. 

Life-School,  Browning  the  founder  of  the 
modern,  320 ;  younger  representatives, 
320;  portraiture  a  high  art,  32 1 ;  Rossetti's 
drawings  and  poems,  359. 

Light,  362. 

Lightness  of  Touch,  272. 

Limitations,  Tennyson's,  188  ;  Browning's, 
322 ;  Buchanan's,  350. 

Linton,  William  James,  260,  261,  368; 
Claribel,  etc.,  270;  versatility,  271. 


Locker,  Frederick,  273. 

Lockhart,  John  Gibson,  235, 

London,  its  humane  satirists  and  poets,  86. 

London  Magazine,  77,  82,  107. 

London  Poems,  Buchanan's,  350,  351. 

London's  Poet  (Hood),  83. 

Longevity,  180. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  106,  254, 
302  ;  translation  of  Dante,  276  ;  and  see 
American  Poets. 

"Lotos-Eaters,"  Tennyson's,  likeness  to 
portions  of  the  Greek  Idyls,  214-217. 

Love,  its  effect  upon  a  woman's  genius,  132. 

Lover,  Samuel,  258. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  remark  upon  Lan- 
dor,  36  ;  "  Commemoration  Ode,"  400  ; 
and  see  American  Poets. 

Lucile,  Lytton's,  268. 

Lucretius,  20,  32,  226. 

"Lucretius,"  Tennyson's,  181. 

Luggie,  The,  Gray's,  265. 

Luria,  Browning's,  reviewed,  310,  311 ;  ex 
hibits  the  author's  favorite  characteriza 
tion,  310  ;  dedicated  to  Landor,  311  ;  and 
see  319. 

"  Lycidas,"  Milton's,  99,  396 ;  compared 
with  In  Memoriam,  168. 

"  Lycus  the  Centaur,"  Hood's,  75. 

Lyra  Germanica,  etc.,  278. 

Lyrical  Poetry,  refinement  of  Landor's,  45  ; 
Arnold's  lacking  flow,  92  ;  Miss  Barrett's, 
129;  distinction  between  a  lyric  and  a 
song,  '101 ;  views  of  R.  H.  Stoddard, 
101,  102;  Browning's  early  lyrics,  302; 
dramatic  quality,  320 ;  his  occasional 
lyrics,  328,  329;  their  suggestiveness, 
329 ;  defects,  329 ;  Rossetti's  lyrical 
faculty,  365  ;  Swinburne's,  394,  395,  396. 

Lyte,  H.  F.,  277. 

Lytton,  Edward,  Lord,  a  novelist-poet,  254  ; 
King  Arthur,  255  ;  dramas,  255  ;  trans 
lations,  274  ;  remarks  on  Horace,  275. 

Lytton,  Robert,  Lord,  267-269;  Lucile, 
268  ;  likeness  to  his  father,  268  ;  his  imi 
tation  of  Tennyson  and  Browning,  269  ; 
and  see  320,  328. 


430 


INDEX. 


MACAULAY,  THOMAS  BABINGTON,  250, 

251,  260. 
MacCarthy,  Denis  Florence,  259 ;  selections 

from  Calderon,  276. 
Macdonald,  George,  264. 
Mackay,  Charles,  259. 
Maclagan,  Alexander,  279. 
Macready,  the  Tragedian,  107,  236,  308,  309. 
Madrigals,  Stoddard's  selection  of,  101. 
Magazines,  255. 
Maginn,  William,  235. 
Magnitude,  in  Art,  differing  from  greatness, 

377- 

Magnusson,  E.,  371. 

Mahoney,  Francis,  272. 

Malory,  Sir  Thomas,  his  black-letter  ro 
mance,  176. 

Manfred,  Byron's,  41. 

Mangan,  James  Clarence,  260. 

Mannerism,  of  the  new  schools,  286 ;  Swin 
burne's,  383. 

Marlowe,  102. 

Marriage,  Procter's,  108 ;  Mrs.  Browning's, 
132  ;  essential  to  full  growth  of  a  woman's 
genius,  132-136;  relation  to  Art,  134; 
with  respect  to  the  husband,  134,  135  ; 
to  the  wife,  135. 

Marston,  John  Westland,  282. 

Marston,  Philip  Bourke,  282. 

Martin,  Theodore,  Bon  Gualtier,  272  ;  para 
phrase  of  Horace,  274 ;  Danish  transla 
tions,  276. 

Marvell,  Andrew,  28. 

Marzials,  Theophile,  284,  285. 

Massey,  Gerald,  263,  355. 

Massie,  Edward,  278. 

Massinger,  105. 

Masters,  in  Art,  their  triumph  over  restric 
tions,  30. 

Material,  Poetic,  262,  334. 

Matter,  his  account  of  the  Alexandrian 
School,  205. 

Maud,  and  other  Poems,  Tennyson's,  173, 
177. 

Mazzini,  64,  400. 

McGee,  Thomas  D'Arcy,  260. 


Mediaeval  Studies,  Browning's,  324,  325  ; 
Swinburne's,  392. 

Meditative  School,  its  minor  poets,  241- 
248;  general  spirit  of,  246-248;  weak 
ness  and  decline,  248;  despondent  tone, 
287;  and  see  96-98. 

Melody,  Rossetti's,  362,  365  ;  Swinburne's, 

383,  395- 

Memorials  of  Hood,  by  Mrs.  Broderip,  88. 

Men  and  Women,  Browning's,  321-328; 
his  representative  book,  322  ;  general  ex 
cellence,  322. 

Meredith,  George,  271. 

Metaphysical  Poetry,  163,  341 ;  and  see 
Transcendentalism. 

Metempsychosis,  literary,  335. 

Method,  Poetic,  evils  of  unwise,  334,  337. 

Metre,  of  In  Memoriam,  169;  of  "The 
Daisy,"  1 74 ;  Swinburne's  novel  varia 
tions,  395  ;  Ave  atque  Vale,  397. 

Middlemarch,  George  Eliot's,  254. 

Millais,  the  artist,  358. 

Miller,  Thomas,  259. 

Milman,  Henry  Hart,  236. 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton  (Lord  Hough- 
ton),  37,  245. 

Milton,  his  blank-verse,  46;  Latinism,  161 ; 
plan  of  an  Arthurian  epic,  180  ;  the  Greek 
idyls,  232 ;  his  poetic  canon,  353 ;  and  see 
37,  58,  60,  119,  154,  156,  175,  184,  209, 

292,  299,  38l« 

Minor  Poets,  6;  how  affected  by  their 
period,  28. 

Mirabeau,  399. 

Mirandola,  Procter's,  107. 

Miscellaneous  Poets.  The  various  groups, 
schools,  and  minor  poets,  of  the  Victo 
rian  Period.  See  Chapters  VII.  and 
VIII.,  234-292;  an  era  fairly  repre 
sented  by  its  miscellaneous  poets,  234 ; 
early  situation  and  outlook,  234 ;  "  retired 
list,"  235,  236 ;  minor  dramatists,  236 ; 
sentimentalists,  237;  skill  and  refine 
ment  of  recent  minor  poets,  240;  those 
of  the  Elizabethan  Period,  240  ;  influence 
of  Wordsworth  —  the  Meditative  School, 


INDEX. 


431 


241-248;  its  characteristics,  247;  de 
cline,  248  ;  independent  singers,  248  - 
2 53  >  poetry  of  successful  prose-writers, 
251;  inferior  novelist-poets,  253-255; 
magazinists,  255 ;  diffusion  of  poor 
verse,  256 ;  a  few  men  of  early  promise, 
256-258;  song-writers,  258-261;  Eng 
lish  and  Scottish,  258,  259 ;  Irish,  260 ; 
Democratic  and  Chartist,  261 ;  recent 
errors  and  affectations,  262,  285 ;  the 
Rhapsodists,  or  the  "  Spasmodic  School," 
262  -  265  ;  influence  of  Tennyson  and 
Browning,  265-269;  false  simplicity, 
-  266;  minor  idyllic  poets,  269-271 ;  vers 
de  socicte,  satire,  parody,  etc.,  272,  273 ; 
translators  and  translation,  273  -  276 ; 
hymnology,  277,  278;  dialect-verse,  279; 
female  poets,  279-281;  latest  schools, 
281-286;  psychological  and  Neo-Ro- 
mantic  group,  281-286;  poetry  of  the 
fantastic  and  grotesque,  285 ;  want  of 
wholesome  criticism,  286;  "scholar's 
work  in  poetry,"  286 ;  tone  of  the  minor 
philosophic  poets,  287 ;  that  of  the  idyl- 
lists,  romancers,  etc.,  287 ;  present  out 
look,  289 ;  British  and  American  poets 
contrasted,  290 ;  freshness  and  individu 
ality  of  the  latter,  290 ;  meaning  of  the 
recent  aspect,  291 ;  reflex  influence  of 
America  upon  the  motherland,  291 ;  the 
future,  292 ;  great  number  of  the  minor 
Victorian  poets,  286,  344. 

Miss  Kihnansegg,  Hood's,  79,  80,  84,  85. 

Mitford,  John,  242. 

Mitford,  Mary  Russell,  portrait  of  Miss 
Barrett,  123;  dramas,  etc.,  236. 

Mixed  School,  319. 

Moir,  David  Macbeth,  255. 

Moliere,  298. 

Monastic  Studies,  Browning's,  324,  325. 

Montgomery,  James,  235. 

Montgomery,  Robert,  256. 

Moore,  Thomas,  102,  203,  235,  238,  258. 

Moral  Epistle,  Landor's,  39. 

Moralistic  Group,  242. 

Morris,   William,    Icelandic    Translations, 


276;  a  Neo- Romantic  poet,  282-284; 
associated  with  Rossetti  and  Swinburne, 
345,  358  ;  decorative  art-work,  358  ;  review 
of  his  career  and  works,  366-378;  an 
Artist  of  the  Beautiful,  366 ;  serenity,  366  ; 
compared  with  Keats,  367  ;  practice  in  the 
arts  of  design,  367,  368  ;  pleasant  ease  of 
his  poetry,  368  ;  The  Defence  of  Guene- 
vere,  368,  369  ;  landscape,  ibid. ;  his  early 
work  like  Rossetti's,  369  ;  Pre-Raphaelite 
ballads,  369  ;  The  Life  and  Death  of  Ja 
son,  370,  371  ;  a  notable  raconteur,  370, 
372;  his  close  knowledge  of  antiquities, 
370,  374  ;  lack  of  variety,  371 ;  translations 
from  the  Icelandic,  etc.,  371,  372;  The 
Earthly  Paradise,  372  -  378  ;  a  successor 
to  Boccaccio  and  Chaucer,  372,  375  ;  not 
often  highly  imaginative,  373,  378  ;  pos 
sessed  of  clear  vision  and  speech,  374 ; 
fatalistic  moral  of  his  verse,  375,  377 ; 
excessive  facility,  377;  his  station  among 
the  Neo-Romantic  leaders,  378 ;  Saxon 
diction,  379 ;  and  see  40,  357,  392,  401. 

Morte  Darthur,  Le,  Malory's,  1 76. 

Morte  d1  Arthur,  Tennyson's,  161, 177,  220. 

Moschus.     See  Bion  and  Moschus. 

Motherwell,  William,  235. 

Movement,  the  epic  swiftness,  166. 

Miiller,  Max,  372. 

Mundi  et  Cordis,  Wade's,  256. 

My  Beautiful  Lady,  Woolner's,  270. 

Myers,  Frederic  W.  H.,  246. 

"  My  Last  Duchess,"  Browning's,  321,  322, 

337- 

Mysticism.     See  Transcendentalism. 

Myths  and  Legends,  of  The  Earthly  Para 
dise,  372. 

NAIRN,  BARONESS,  120. 

Napier,  Sir  William,  38. 

Napoleon  Fallen,  Buchanan's,  347,  354. 

"  Napoleon  III.  in  Italy,"  Mrs.  Browning's, 

143- 
Narrative  Verse,  Morris  a  master  of,  370, 

372. 
Nation,  The  (Dublin),  260. 


432 


INDEX. 


Natural  method,  in  Art,  38. 

Nature,  Lander's  love  of,  60  ;  Buchanan's, 

349  ;  Swinburne's  slight  regard  for,  401. 
Neale,  John  Mason,  277. 
Neo-Romantic  School,  6,  281-286;  led  by 

Browning,     Rossetti,    Swinburne,    281 ; 

French  Romanticism,  284 ;  carried  to  an 

extreme  by  Marzials,  284,  285 ;  relative 

positions  of  the  leaders,  361,  378  ;  and  see 

393,  413,  also  Romanticism. 
Neukomm,  Chevalier,  108. 
New  Departure,  a  change  from  the  idyllic 

method,  342. 

Newman,  Francis  William,  275. 
Newman,  John  Henry,  245,  278. 
New  Monthly  Magazine,  82. 
Nibelungen-Lied,  372. 
Nichol,  John,  255. 
Nicoll,  Robert,  261. 
Noel,  Roden,  270. 
Non-Creative  Period,  from  Milton  to  Cow- 

per,  21,  22. 

Norse  Literature,  374. 
North-Coast  Poems,  Buchanan's,  350,  351. 
Norton,  Caroline  Elizabeth  Sarah,  120,  237. 
Notes  on  Poems  and  Reviews,  Swinburne's, 

39°- 
Novel,  The,  supplying  the  place  of  the 

drama,  25,  47,  295. 
Novelist-Poets,  Kingsley  and   Thackeray, 

251 ;  inferior  names,  253-255. 

OBJECTIVITY,  in  poetry,  47 ;  Arnold's,  92, 
95  ;  dramatic,  295  ;  Morris's,  366,  367. 

Obscurity,  only  the  semblance  of  imagina 
tion,  305. 

Obsolete  Forms,  361.  > 

"  Ode  on  the  French  Republic,"  Swin 
burne's,  400. 

"  Ode  to  Rae  Wilson,"  Hood's,  78. 

Odes  and  Addresses,  Hood's,  77. 

"  CEnone,"  Tennyson's,  the  elegiac  refrain, 
213,  resemblance  to  various  passages  in 
Theocritus,  213-214. 

Omar  Khayyam,  Rubaiydt  of,  276,  398. 

Originality,  Tennyson's,  232 ;  in  what  con 


sisting,  297 ;    Browning's,  293,  297,  320, 

338,  341 ;  Buchanan's,  348. 
Orion,  Home's,  249. 
Orphic  utterances,  of  the  Lake  School  and 

Buchanan,  347,  354. 
O'Shaughnessy,  Arthur  W.  E.,  284. 
"  Othello,"  310. 
Over-Culture,  Arnold's  reaction  from,  97 ; 

evils  of,  124. 

Over-Possession,  145,  298. 
"  Owen  Meredith."    See  Robert,  Lord  Lyt- 

ton. 

PAINTING,  its  recent  services  to  poetry, 
358 ;  the  Pre-Raphaelite  method,  358 ; 
Rossetti's  drawings,  etc.,  359. 

Palgrave,  Francis  Turner,  245  -  248  ;  resem 
blance  to  Arnold,  245 ;  his  Reign  of 
Law,  245, 247  ;  his  attitude,  247  ;  hymns, 
278. 

Parables,  Hake's,  282. 

Paracelsus,  Browning's,  305  -  308  ;  ana 
lytic  power,  305  ;  compared  with  Faust, 

305  ;  merits  and  defects,  306 ;  garrulity, 

306  ;  fine  diction,  306,  307  ;  blank-verse, 
307 ;  meaning,  307. 

Paradise  Lost,  161,  175,  180,  184;  its  the 
ology,  353. 

Parody,  272,  273,  304. 

Parr,  Samuel,  37. 

Parsons,  Thomas,  lines  "On  a  Bust  of 
Dante,"  364. 

Pascal,  Blaise,  147. 

Passion,  two  kinds,  91 ;  Ptppa  Passes,  316 ; 
moral  of  Browning's,  332 ;  ennobling 
to  Art,  333. 

Pastoral  Verse,  of  Wordsworth,  Bryant, 
and  Buchanan,  349. 

Patmore,  Coventry,  266,  267. 

Patriotic  Verse,  259,  260. 

Payne,  John,  283. 

Peacock,  Thomas  Love,  235. 

Peel,  Sir  Robert,  89. 

Pendennis,  Thackeray's,  142. 

Pentameron,  Landor's,  48,  51. 

Pericles  and  Aspasia,  Landor's,  38,  51,  54. 


INDEX. 


433 


Persian  Quatrain,  283. 

"  Peter  Pindar,"  238. 

Petrarch,  n. 

Petty,  Sir  William,  his  declaration  of  faith, 

192. 
Philanthropy,   Hood's   and    Dickens',    83, 

84 ;  Arnold's,  91  ;  Mrs.  Browning's,  129. 
Philip  Van  Artevelde,  Taylor's,  237. 
Philips,  Ambrose,  232. 
Philistinism,  its  defence  and  arraignment, 

328  ;  false  distinction  between  Browning 

and  Swinburne,  330. 
Philoctetes,  Warren,  283. 
Philology,  Landor's,  65. 
Phoctzans,  Landor's,  41. 
Piano-music,  a  term  applied  to  recent  verse, 

191. 

Pindar,  60,  204,  205. 
Pippa  Passes,  Browning's,  306,  313,  315- 

319;    his    most    simple    and    beautiful 

drama,  315;  scene  between  Ottima  and 

Sebald,    316-318;  too  intellectual  and 

subjective,  318  ;  a  work  of  pure  art,  319  ; 

its  faults  and  beauties,  319  ;  quoted,  339. 
Plagiarism,  210,  211. 
Plato,  14,  119,  303;  Landor's  opinion 

70  ;  description  of  a  poet,  149. 
Play,  Form  of  the,  its  advantages  for  a 

masterpiece,  295. 
Playwrights,  295. 
Plea,  of  the  Midsummer  Fairies,  Hood's, 

75- 

Plumptre,  Edward  Hayes,  246. 
Poe,  Edgar  Allen,  Sonnet  to  Science,  8 ; 

indebted  to  Procter,    106;    estimate    of 

Tennyson,  154,  210;  and  see  American 

Poets. 

Poemata  et  Inscriptions,  Landor's,  43. 
Poems,  Tennyson's  volume  of  1832,   158, 

210;  of  1842,  160. 
Poems  and  Ballads,    Swinburne's,    389- 

396  ;  criticism  evoked  by  this  book,  390  ; 

the  poet's  rejoinder,   390;  reprinted  in 

America,    390 ;     a    collection    of    early 

poems,  391,  392  ;  mediaeval  studies,  392  ; 

French,  Hebraic,  and  Italian  influences, 

19 


393 ;   poetic  quality,  394 ;  extravagance, 
395  ;  novel  and  beautiful  metres,  395  ;  a 
suggestive  volume,  396. 
Poems  before  Congress,  Mrs.  Browning's, 

143- 

Poems  by  Two  Brothers,  157. 

Poems,  chiefly  Lyrical,  Tennyson's,  157, 
158. 

Poems  of  Rural  Life,  Barnes's,  279. 

Poetic  Decline,  Mrs.  Browning's,  143 

Poetic  Revival  (1791-1824),  22,  240. 

Poetry,  compared  with  sister-arts,  3,  156; 
Poetry  and  Science,  8,  20  ;  its  office,  16  ; 
"poetry  of  the  future,"  21,  31,  32,  341 ; 
its  reserved  domain,  21 ;  advance  as  an 
art,  25  -  27  ;  the  lasting  kind,  76  ;  Arnold's 
theory,  95,  97 ;  four  great  orders,  204 ; 
diffusion  of  inferior  verse,  256  ;  Poetry  a 
jealous  mistress,  258  ;  elements  as  an  art, 
293 ;  a  means  of  expression,  298 ;  what 
constitutes  a  poet,  298 ;  misuse  of  the 
term,  299  ;  Browning's  theory,  301 ;  Les- 
sing  on  Poetry  and  Painting,  358 ;  obli 
gations  of  the  former  to  the  latter,  358 ; 
and  see  Latter-Day  Poets,  Miscellaneous 
Poets,  etc. 

Pope,  imitated  by  Landor,  39 ;  resemblance 
between  him  and  Tennyson,  184;  differ 
ence,  185 ;  deficient  in  suggestiveness, 
1 86;  "Pastorals,"  215;  and  see  40,  60, 
154,  163,200,232,273,274. 

Poverty,  unfriendly  to  Art,  81,  82;  fellow 
ship  of  the  poor,  83  ;  the  "  genteel  poor," 
83. 

Praed,  Winthrop  Mackworth,  238,  272. 

Pre-Chaucerian  Period,  369. 

Pre-Chaucerian  Verse   and   Method,   179, 

359,  378- 

Precision  of  Touch,  361. 

Precocity,  243. 

Pre-Raphaelitism,  Tennyson's  in  youth, 
155, 176 ;  Browning's,  339  ;  the  painters  of 
the  school,  358 ;  its  relation  to  academic 
art,  358  ;  Rossetti's,  in  poetry  and  paint 
ing,  359 ;  Morris's,  369 ;  feeling  of  the  true 
disciple,  369,  370;  and  see  266,  300. 
BB 


434 


INDEX. 


"  Prince  Hohenstiel-Schwangau,"  Brown 
ing's,  337- 

Princess,  The,  Tennyson's,  164-167,  220, 
225. 

Procter,  Adelaide  Anne,  107,  254,  280. 

Procter,  Bryan  Waller  ("  Barry  Cornwall "), 
73  ;  review  of  his  career  and  writings,  100 
-113;  his  birth,  100;  a  natural  vocalist, 
100;  genuine  quality  of  his  songs,  101, 
102  ;  his  youth  and  early  associates,  103; 
a  pioneer  of  the  recent  school,  103  ;  pref 
ace  to  his  "  Dramatic  Scenes,"  103 ;  a 
pupil  of  Leigh  Hunt,  103;  restrictions 
upon  his  dramatic  genius,  104 ;  a  poet  of 
the  renaissance,  105 ;  Dramatic  Scenes, 
etc.,  105  ;  his  influence  upon  other  poets, 
1 06 ;  Mirandola,  107 ;  poems  of  a  later 
date,  107 ;  his  daughter  Adelaide,  107 ; 
home  and  domestic  happiness,  108  ;  Eng 
lish  Songs,  109-112;  their  number  and 
beauty,  109  ;  Stoddard  s  estimate  of  them, 
109;  their  surprising  range  and  variety, 
112;  "Dramatic  Fragments,"  113;  his 
old  age  and  death,  113;  "A  Blot  in  the 
'Scutcheon"  dedicated  to  him,  313;  and 
see  26,  167,  236,  258,  412. 

Progress,  Law  of,  in  Art,  17,  27. 

Prometheus,  of  yEschylus,  42  ;  translated 
by  Mrs.  Browning,  121. 

Prometheus  Unbound,  Shelley's,  380,  386, 
388. 

Propagandism,  351,  353;  Buchanan's,  355, 

356. 

Prose,  never  confused  with  Verse  by  true 
poets,  37;  Landor's,  37,  42,  49,  51;  Ar 
nold's,  99,  100 ;  Mrs.  Browning's,  123; 
recent  prose-writers  who  have  written 
poetry,  251-253;  sharply  distinguished 
from  poetry,  299;  Swinburne's,  401, 
404. 

Prose  Romance,  a  rival  to  poetry,  343; 
the  modern  period  of,  343. 

Protectorate,  The.  See  Cromwellian  Pe 
riod. 

Psychological  Verse,  Browning's,  297,  309  ; 
and  see  Neo-Romantic  School. 


Ptolemy  Philadelphus,  206,  207. 
Public  Taste,  law  of  change  in,  150;  appli 
cation  to  Tennyson,  151,  152. 
Puritans,  The,  309. 
Pye,  Henry  James,  34. 

QUAINTNESS,  Rossetti's,  361,  362. 

Quality,  deficient  in  Arnold,  93,  in  Tenny 
son,  183 ;  an  intuitive  grace,  258,  259 ; 
quality  and  quantity,  361. 

Quarles,  Francis,  283. 

Queen  Anne's  Time,  295. 

Queen  Mary,  Tennyson's,  413. 

Queen  Mother,  Swinburne's,  384  -  386,  392, 
404. 

Queen  of  Scots.     See  Mary  Stuart. 

RADICAL  POETS,  262. 

Rafael,  323. 

Range,  47. 

Rationalism  vs.  Calvinism,  329. 

Rational  method  in  Art,  9. 

Real  and  Ideal,  332. 

Realism,  modern,  12;  Tennyson's,  188; 
Patmore's,  266 ;  Dobell's,  267  ;  limits  of, 
304 ;  as  a  substitute  for  imagination,  327  ; 
abuse  of  the  term,  359. 

Red  Cotton  Night-Cap  Country,  Brown 
ing's,  337. 

Reform-verse,  Buchanan's,  355. 

Refrains,  Mrs.  Browning's,  145,  146. 

"  Reign  of  Law,"  Palgrave's,  245,  247. 

Religious  feeling,  Mrs.  Browning's,  147 ; 
Tennyson's  attitude,  192. 

Renaissance,  The,  105  ;  revival  of  old  forms, 
286. 

Republicanism,  Landor's,  64  ;  Swinburne's, 

399- 

Reputation,  356. 
Restraint,   Arnold's,  91 ;    lack  of,  among 

subjective  poets,  145  ;   Buchanan's  need 

of,  348  ;  an  element  of  perfect  art,  410. 
Retrospective  Summary,  412-414. 
Return  of  the  Druses,  Browning's,  310,  312, 

313  ;  classical  form,  313. 
Reverence  in  Art,  148  ;  Tennyson's,  192. 


INDEX. 


435 


Revolutionary  poems,  Swinburne's,  399- 
401. 

Reynolds,  Jane  (Mrs.  Hood),  89. 

Rhapsodists.     See  Spasmodic  School. 

Rhetoric,  288. 

"  Rhyme  of  the  Duchess  May,"  Mrs.  Brown 
ing's,  125. 

Rhythm,  Tennyson's,  226,  227 ;  Swin 
burne's,  380  -  383,  402. 

Richter,  Jean  Paul,  147. 

Rienzi,  Miss  Mitford's,  236. 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  86. 

Ring  and  the  Book,  Browning's,  334  -  336 ; 
deemed  his  greatest  work,  334 ;  an  intel 
lectual  prodigy,  334 ;  outline  of,  335  ;  style 
of  certain  passages,  335  ;  estimate  of,  as  a 
poem,  336 ;  and  see  341. 

Ritualism,  410. 

Robinson,  Crabb,  51. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  235. 

Roman,  The,  Dobell's,  267. 

Romanticism,  74  ;  French  Romantic  School, 
284  ;  carried  to  an  extreme,  284,  285  ;  con 
trasted  with  classicism,  313;  the  early, 
359 ;  Swinburne's,  404 ;  and  see  412,  and 
Neo-Romantic  School. 

"  Romaunt  of  the  Page,"  Miss  Barrett's, 
123. 

"  Rosamond,"  Swinburne's.  See  Queen 
Mother. 

"  Rose  Aylmer,"  Landor's,  46,  303. 

Rossetti,  Christina  Georgina,  280. 

Rossetti,  Dante  Gabriel,  compared  with  Ten 
nyson,  176;  Neo-Romanticism,  282-284; 
Early  Italian  Poets,  276,  360;  relations 
with  Morris  and  Swinburne,  345,  358, 
369,  378  ;  review  of  his  works  and  career, 
357  -  366  ;  birth,  357  ;  distinctive  force  and 
attitude,  357;  influence  as  a  leader,  357: 
a  circle  called  by  his  name,  357  ;  an  early 
Pre-Raphaelite  in  art  and  poetry,  358, 
359  ;  a  man  of  genius,  359 ;  ballads,  359  ; 
Italian  parentage,  360  ;  Poems,  ^60  -  365  ; 
his  conscientiousness,  361 ;  quaintness  of 

f  diction  and  accent,  361,  of  feeling,  362; 
a  master  of  the  Neo-Romantic  school, 


361  ;  simplicity,  and  precision  of  touch, 
361 ;  terseness,  361 ;  an  earnest  and  spirit 
ual  artist,  362 ;  melody,  362,  365 ;  light 
and  color,  362  ;  "  The  Blessed  Damozel," 
363 ;  mediaeval  ballads,  364 ;  miscella 
neous  poems,  364 ;  a  translator  from  the 
old  French,  364  ;  lyrical  faculty,  365  ;  dra 
matic  power,  365  ;  a  sonneteer,  365  ;  his 
imagination,  365 ;  aspects  of  his  poetry 
and  career,  365,  366 ;  The  House  of  Life, 
366;  and  see  2,  320,  386,  391,  392,  413. 
Ruskin,  John,  on  Art  as  a  means  of  Ex 
pression,  288  ;  his  word-painting,  288  ;  on 
popular  appreciation,  298. 

SACRED  VERSE.    See  Hymnology. 

Sand,  George,  120. 

Sappho,  115. 

Satirical  Verse,  272. 

Saxon  English,  in  translating  Homer,  371 ; 
Morris's  diction,  379. 

"  Scairth  o'  Bartle,"  Buchanan's,  352,  354. 

Schoell,  quoted,  206,  239. 

Science,  its  iconoclastic  stress,  7 ;  bearing 
on  religion  and  poetry,  7 ;  no  inherent 
antagonism,  8  ;  a  temporary  struggle,  9  ; 
Lyell,  Darwin,  Agassiz,  Huxley,  Spencer, 
13,  19;  approaching  harmony,  19-21; 
address  of  Dr.  Wurz,  19 ;  complete  un 
derstanding  not  yet  possible,  21 ;  use  of 
scientific  material  by  Tennyson  in  "In 
Memoriam,"  etc.,  170,  193;  Wordsworth 
upon  relations  of  science  and  poetry,  193 ; 
effect  upon  modern  imagination,  343. 

Scotland,  represented  by  Buchanan  in  re 
cent  poetry,  346 ;  character  of  the  Scot 
tish  element,  346,  347. 

Scottish  Idyls,  Buchanan's,  349,  350,  352. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  34,  104,  176,  203. 

Scott,  William  Bell,  his  Year  of  the  World, 
257;  and  see  270,  368. 

Seasons,  The,  Thomson's,  188. 

Seclusion,  effect  on  Tennyson,  190. 

Sensuousness,  389-391. 

Sentimentalism,  237,  412. 

Seraphim,  Mrs.  Browning's,  123,  124. 


436 


INDEX. 


Serenity  of  mood,  366. 

Scrio-Comic  Verse,  272,  273. 

Shairp,  John  Campbell,  279. 

Shakespeare,  his  human  sympathy,  37; 
stage-presentation  of  his  plays,  38;  his 
women,  314;  diction  caught  by  Swin 
burne,  385  ;  and  see  u,  14,  63,  75,  102, 
142,  156,  192,  204,  224,  292,  294,  298, 

3°7,  329,  38l>  4i3- 

"  Shakespeare's  Scholar,"  24. 

Shelley,  his  Adonais,  99  ;  classical  instinct, 
121 ;  translations,  122;  Mrs.  Browning's 
resemblance  to,  1 24 ;  Greek  idyls,  232 ; 
Revolt  of  Islam,  354;  rhythmical  genius, 
compared  to  Swinburne's,  380,  381,  383  ; 
and  see  34,  39,  41,64,  74,  168,  180,  203, 
209,  236,  274,  329,  382,  392,  396,  400, 
401,411,412. 

Shenstone,  William,  232. 

"Shepherd's  Idyl,"  resemblance  to  "Cy 
clops,"  228. 

Shirley,  James,  28. 

Sicilian  Idyls,  204  ;  and  see  Greek  Idyls. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  52,  147,  176. 

Simcox,  George  Augustus,  282. 

Simmons,  Bartholomew,  255. 

Simplicity,  Hood's,  88 ;  spurious,  of  minor 
poets,  265,  266;  Tennyson's,  266;  clas 
sical,  313;  Rossetti's,  361. 

Skepticism,  its  bearing  on  creative  art,  1 8 ; 
faith  and  doubt  of  hi  Memoriam,  170. 

Smith,  Alexander,  263. 

Smith,  the  brothers  James  and  Horace,  235. 

"  Sohrab  and  Rustum,"  Arnold's,  92  -  94. 

Song  of  Italy,  Swinburne's,  400. 

"  Song  of  the  Shirt,"  Hood's,  87,  88,  90, 
130. 

Songs,  and  Song-Making ;  the  latter  almost 
a  lost  art,  101 ;  special  quality  of  the 
song,  101 ;  Stoddard's  definition  of,  102  ; 
songs  of  the  eighteenth  century,  102 ; 
Procter's,  102 ;  Tennyson's,  163 ;  charm 
and  office  of  songs,  258  ;  Victorian  song- 
makers,  258  -  261 ;  Irish  and  patriotic, 
259,  260;  chartist  and  democratic,  260, 
261 ;  songs  in  Swinburne's  ballads,  395. 


Songs  before  Sunrise,  Swinburne's,  400, 401. 

Songs  of  the  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads, 
Thornbury's,  252. 

Sonnets,  Rossetti's,  365  ;  Mrs.  Browning's, 
365- 

Sonnets  from  the  Portuguese,  Mrs.  Brown 
ing's,  136;  reviewed,  137,  138. 

Sordello,  Browning's,  309,  310 ;  contrasted 
with  Sartor  Resartus,  310;  and  see  334, 
34°- 

Soul's  Tragedy,  Browning's,  311,  319. 

Southey,  34,  37,  41,  57,  61,  68,  235,  356, 
361,  400. 

Spanish  Gypsey,  George  Eliot's,  254. 

"  Spartacus,"  261. 

Spasmodic  School,  notice  of,  262-265; 
origin  of  the  epithet,  262;  satirized  by 
Aytoun,  262  ;  faults,  263  ;  and  see  355. 

Spencer,  Herbert,  law  of  progress,  155. 

Spenser,  154,  176. 

"  Speranza,"  260. 

Spirituality,  of  Mrs.  Browning,  148;  of 
Rossetti,  362. 

Spontaneity,  Procter's,  100;  Mrs.  Brown 
ing's,  145  ;  slight  in  Tennyson,  183  ;  es 
sential  to  lyric  art,  253 ;  Rossetti's,  365  ; 
and  see  241,  258,  289. 

St.  Abe,  Buchanan's,  355. 

Stage-Plays,  Buchanan's,  355. 

Stage,  The,  294,  295,  410. 

Stanley,  Arthur  Penhryn,  278. 

"Statue  and  the  Bust,"  Browning's,  332. 

Sterling,  John,  243. 

Stoddard,  Richard  Henry,  upon  the  lyric 
and  the  song,  101 ;  eulogy  of  Procter's 
songs,  109  ;  and  see  254. 

Sir  afford,  Browning's,  308,  309,  311. 

"  Strayed  Singers,"  236. 

Stuart,  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  Swinburne's 
ideal  of,  404,  405,  407-409. 

Studies,  a  substitute  for  spontaneous  work, 
95  ;  Browning's,  327  ;  their  defects,  327  ; 
subjectivity,  327;  excessive  realism  and 
detail,  327. 

Style,  Mrs.  Browning's,  124;  Tennyson's, 
189. 


INDEX. 


437 


Subjectivity,  in  poetry,  47  ;  a  feminine  trait, 
147 ;  Mrs.  Browning's,  148  ;  Byron's,  197 ; 
Tennyson's,  197 ;  Browning's,  296,  340 ; 
hurtful  to  Pippa  Passes,  318. 

Suckling,  76,  272. 

Suggestiveness,  329. 

Swain,  Charles,  259. 

"  Swallow  Song,"  in  The  Princess,  220. 

Swanwick,  Anna,  275. 

Swedenborg,  148. 

"  Sweetness  and  Light,"  100. 

Swift,  352. 

Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  unites  quali 
ties  of  Browning  and  Rossetti,  6 ;  on 
Lander's  first  book,  39;  pilgrimage  to 
Italy,  71;  influence,  179;  Neo-Romanti- 
cism,  281,  283 ;  classicism,  etc.,  313,  386 
-  389,  393  ;  erotic  verse,  and  Browning's, 
330 ;  associated  with  Rossetti  and  Morris, 
345  ;  review  of  his  genius  and  career,  379 
-412  ;  birth,  379 ;  diction  contrasted  with 
Morris's,  379 ;  surprising  command  of 
rhythm,  380-383;  compared  to  Shelley, 
380  ;  unprecedented  melody  and  freedom, 
381 ;  the  most  dithyrambic  of  poets,  381  ; 
expression  carried  to  fatiguing  excess, 
382  ;  voice  and  execution,  383 ;  likeness 
to  Landor,  384,  398 ;  linguistic  gifts  and 
attainments,  384;  The  Queen  Mother 
and  Rosamond,  384-386;  Elizabethan 
manner  of  these  plays,  384 ;  a  diversion 
from  the  idyllic  method,  386;  Atalanta 
in  Calydon,  386-389;  Poems  and  Bal 
lads,  389-396;  excitement  aroused  by 
this  book,  389,  390 ;  "  Notes  on  Poems 
and  Reviews,"  390  ;  a  literary  antagonism, 
39°>  39 :  >  tne  volume  an  outgrowth  of 
the  poet's  formative  period,  391,  392 ; 
early  Gothic  studies,  392 ;  French,  He 
braic,  and  classical  influences,  393  ;  lyrical 
genius,  394  -  399  ;  «  Ave  atque  Vale," 
396,  398 ;  Baudelaire,  396 ;  tribute  to 
Gautier,  398 ;  Latin  and  Greek  verse, 
398,  399  ;  revolutionary  poems,  399  ;  the 
poet's  grandfather,  399 ;  Song  of  Italy, 
400 ;  "  Ode  on  the  French  Republic," 


400 ;  Songs  before  Sunrise,  400 ;  no 
marked  love  of  Nature,  401 ;  prose-writ 
ings,  401 ;  critical  traits,  401,  402  ;  Under 
the  Microscope,  402  ;  estimate  of  American 
•  poets,  402,  403  ;  Chastelard,  404  -  406 ; 
the  poet's  conception  of  Mary  Stuart, 
404;  Bothwell,  406-410;  the  author  in 
the  front  rank  of  modern  dramatic  poets, 
406  ;  the  Stuart  "  trilogy,"  406,  et  scq. ; 
lack  of  restraint,  410;  amount  and  rich 
ness  of  his  work,  411 ;  application,  412  ; 
and  see  2,  31,  38,  43,  71,  168,  187,  290, 

32°>  325>  357,  364,  4i3- 
Swinburne,  Sir  John,  399. 
Sylvia,  Darley's,  236. 
Sympathy,  law  of,  in  Art,  38. 
Synthesis,  182,  241. 

TADEMA,  Alma,  257. 

Taine,  H.  A.,  critical  theory,  i,  410 ;  quoted, 
143;  analysis  of  Tennyson,  194;  its  de 
fects,  195,  merits,  195,  196;  estimate  of 
De  Musset  and  Tennyson,  195. 

Talent,  distinguished  from  genius,  321. 

Talfourd,  Sir  Thomas  Noon,  236. 

Tasso,  ii. 

Taste,  British,  subordinate  to  love  of  nov 
elty,  31 ;  deficient  in  Mrs.  Browning,  126  ; 
faultless  in  Tennyson,  187;  the  parent  of 
versatility,  368. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  tone  of  his  early  lyrics, 
112;  translation  of  Faust,  276. 

Taylor,  Jeremy,  65. 

Taylor,  Sir  Henry,  his  Preface  to  Philip 
van  Artevelde,  28,  29,  237;  and  see  2, 
47- 

Technique,  recent  perfection  of,  22,  412  ; 
Lander's,  65  ;  Morris's,  374. 

Temperament,  Byron's,  and  Mrs.  Brown 
ing's,  198  ;  the  poetic,  when  unsustained 
by  true  genius,  264. 

Tennant,  William,  235. 

Tennyson,  Alfred,  his  blank-verse,  46 ;  the 
same,  compared  with  Arnold's,  93  ;  hints 
from  Procter,  106  ;  contrasted  with  Mrs. 
Browning,  144, 145  ;  review  of  his  poems, 


438 


INDEX. 


genius,  and  career,  150-200;  birth,  150; 
prolonged  influence,  151  ;  recently  sub 
jected  to  adverse  criticism,  151,  152; 
"  The  Flower,"  and  "  A  Spiteful  Letter," 
152  ;  represents  his  era,  153  ;  an  indepen 
dent  leader,  154;  Foe's  opinion  of  him, 
154;  high  average  of  his  poetry,  155; 
hindrances  to  a  correct  estimate,  155  ; 
a  born  artist,  155;  youthful  pieces,  155; 
their  Pre-Raphaelitism,  155,  176;  their 
charm,  156,  157;  early  study  of  details, 
156 ;  Poems,  chiefly  Lyrical,  157  ;  Poems 
by  Two  Brothers,  157;  volume  of  1832, 
Poems,  158  -  1 60  ;  sudden  poetic  growth, 
158  ;  an  expression  of  the  beautiful,  158  ; 
at  the  head  of  the  "Art-School,"  159; 
tendency  of  his  genius,  and  influences 
affecting  it,  159;  Greek  influence,  159; 
"  CEnone,"  159;  purely  English  idyls, 
159;  the  volume  of  1842,  Poems,  160- 
164;  a  treasury  of  his  representative 
poems,  1 60 ;  advance  in  thought  and  art, 
1 60 ;  formation  of  his  blank-verse  style, 
1 60;  its  originality  and  perfection,  161  ; 
epic  verse  of  "  Morte  d' Arthur,"  161 ; 
Victorian  idyllic  style  of  his  other  blank- 
verse  poems,  162;  "Dora,"  "  Godiva," 
"  Ulysses,"  etc.,  162 ;  comprehensive 
range  of  English  Idyls  and  other  Poems, 
162,  163;  a  composite  and  influential 
volume,  164;  The  Princess,  164-167; 
its  group  of  lyrics,  166 ;  isometric  songs, 
166  ;  intellectual  growth  and  advantage, 
167;  at  his  prime,  168;  In  Memoriam, 
reviewed,  168-172;  his  most  distinctive 
effort,  1 68 ;  greatest  of  elegiac  master 
pieces,  1 68,  169  ;  its  metrical  and  stanzaic 
arrangement,  169;  its  general  quality, 
171 ;  Tennyson  made  Laureate,  172;  the 
Wellington  Ode,  172;  other  occasional 
pieces,  173;  Maud  and  Other  Poems, 
173,  174;  Idyls  of  the  King,  reviewed  at 
length,  175-180;  love  of  allegory,  176; 
early  and  later  blank-verse,  177;  recent 
mannerisms,  1 79  ;  English,  1 79  ;  steady 
advance  in  work  and  fame,  180 ;  Enoch 


Arden  and  Other  Poems,  181  ;  "  Lucre 
tius,"  181 ;  dialect-poems,  etc.,  181 ;  gen 
eral  characteristics  of  his  genius,  182- 
189  ;  synthetic  perfection,  182 ;  lack  of 
spirit  and  quality,  183 ;  a  conscientious 
artist,  183  ;  certain  weaknesses,  183  ;  Ten 
nyson  and  Pope,  their  points  of  resem 
blance,  184,  185 ;  points  of  difference, 
185,  186;  supreme  and  complex  modern 
art  of  Tennyson,  186 ;  taste,  187 ;  an 
idyllist,  187;  descriptive  faculty,  188; 
limitations,  188;  style,  189;  lack  of  the 
true  dramatic  gift,  189-191,  413;  se 
cluded  life,  190 ;  his  ideal  personages, 
190 ;  perfectly  adapted  to  his  time,  191 ; 
a  liberal  conservative  in  politics,  191, 192, 
in  religion,  192;  artistic  reverence,  192; 
verse  conformed  to  modern  progress  and 
discovery,  193,  194 ;  Taine's  analysis,  its 
defects,  195  ;  its  merits,  195, 196  ;  Tenny 
son  and  Byron  contrasted,  196  -  198  ;  their 
difference  in  method,  197,  in  perception 
and  imagination,  197,  in  subjectivity,  197, 
in  influence,  198  ;  Tennyson's  ideal  poetic 
career,  198,  199;  final  summary  of  the 
foregoing  analysis,  199,  200.  (For  a  sup 
plemental  notice  of  Tennyson  and  the 
idyllic  school,  including  his  obligations  to 
Theocritus,  and  a  view  of  the  resemblance 
between  the  Alexandrian  and  Victorian 
periods,  see  Tennyson  and  Theocritus.') 
The  Laureate's  influence  upon  minor  po 
ets,  265-271 ;  imitated  by  "  Owen  Mere 
dith,"  269 ;  his  method  easily  studied  in 
the  verse  of  his  pupils,  269  ;  joins  the  new 
dramatic  movement,  413;  Queen  Mary, 
413 ;  and  see  also  2,  26,  30,  31,  34,  35,  62, 
102,  105,  116,  130,  234,  238,  241,  244, 

273,  274,  277,  279,  281,  290, 291,  320, 

322,  335,  342,  343,  344,  348,  361,  366, 
382,  384,  386. 

Tennyson  and  Theocritus,  resemblances 
between  these  poets,  and  between  their 
respective  periods,  201  -233  ;  text  of  the 
Greek  idyls,  201, 212  ;  "  Epitaph  of  Bion," 
by  Moschus,  201 ;  obligations  of  Tennyson 


INDEX. 


439 


to  the  Syracusan  poets,  202  ;  points  taken, 
202,  203  ;  Theocritus,  the  father  of  idyllic 
song,  204 ;  the  fourth  great  order  of  poe 
try,  204 ;  previous  references  to  this  sub 
ject,  204 ;  study  of  the  Alexandrian  Era, 
205  -  208  ;  Matter  and  Schoell's  descrip 
tions,  205,  206;  comparison  of  the  Greek 
and  English  tongues,  206 ;  the  reign  of 
Ptolemy  II.,  207  ;  rise  of  Theocritus,  207  ; 
birth  of  the  idyl,  207,  208  ;  Kingsley  upon 
Theocritus,  208 ;  Tennyson  at  Cambridge, 
209  ;  Warton's  edition  of  Theocritus,  209, 
Kiessling's,  209 ;  formation  of  the  Laure 
ate's  style,  210 ;  influence  of  his  Dorian 
studies,  210 ;  two  modes  of  resemblance 
between  poets,  210,  211;  original  trans 
lations  from  the  Syracusan  poets,  and 
their  likeness  to  portions  of  Tennyson's 
verse,  211-  231 ;  "  Hylas  "  and  "  Godiva," 
211-213;  method  pursued  in  transla 
tion,  212;  the  elegiac  refrain,  213; 
"CEnone,"  213,  214;  "The  Lotos-Eat 
ers,"  thoroughly  Dorian,  214  -  217  ;  Virgil 
and  Pope,  215  ;  Tennyson's  modern  idyls, 
217-219;  the  isometric  song,  218;  amce- 
bean  contests,  218  ;  where  the  Laureate  is 
independent,  219 ;  Burns,  219 ;  general 
co-relations  of  Theocritus  and  Tennyson, 
219 ;"  Swallow  Song,"  220 ;  miscellaneous 
passages  compared,  221-225  >  minor  re 
semblances,  225,  226;  similar  effects  of 
rhythm,  226;  Dorian  melody,  227  ;  "  Cy 
clops  "  and  the  "  Shepherd's  Idyl,"  228, 
229;  "The  Thalysia"  and  its  modern 
counterparts,  229-231;  Tennyson  none 
the  less  original,  232 ;  Emerson  and  Lan- 
dor  upon  originality,  232  ;  pseudo-pastoral 
verse  of  other  English  periods,  232 ;  the 
true  idyl  revived  by  Tennyson,  233  ;  and 
see  159,  187. 

Tennyson,  Charles.     See  Charles  Turner. 

Tennyson,  Frederick,  270. 

Terseness,  361. 

Thackeray,  William  Makepeace,  his  English 
types,  24 ;  gift  of  sketching,  74 ;  grim 
pathos,  79;  compared  with  Hood,  So; 


poetic  genius,  251,  252;  humorous  verse, 
272  ;  and  see  92,  142,  262,  273. 

Thackeray,  Miss,  337. 

"  Thalysia,"  of  Theocritus,  229-231. 

"  Theatre  Frangais  au  Moyen  Age,"  226. 

Theme,  recent  lack  of,  49,  287 ;  choice  of, 
405  ;  and  see  Tradition. 

Theocritus,  Lander's  paper  on,  69 ;  editions 
of,  204,  209;  and  see  60,  273,  348,  403, 
and  Tennyson  and  Theocritus. 

Theology.  —  The  divine  and  the  poet,  13. 

Theory,  Arnold's  poetic,  92. 

Thorn,  William,  261,  279. 

Thomson,  265. 

Thombury,  Walter,  252,  262. 

"  Thyrsis,"  Arnold's,  98,  99,  168,  396. 

Tibullus,  224. 

Tilton,  Theodore,  his  sketch  of  Mrs.  Brown 
ing,  131,  140. 

"  Timbuctoo,"  Tennyson's,  209. 

Tone,  effect  of,  92. 

Tradition  vs.  Invention,  164,  370. 

Training,  Arnold  an  example  of,  91. 

Transcendentalism,  a  perilous  quality  in 
Art,  127;  Home's,  249;  that  of  Mac- 
donald,  Buchanan,  and  other  North- 
Country  Poets,  264 ;  and  see  299. 

Transition  Periods,  14,  157,  342,  412. 

Translation  and  Translators,  recent,  273- 
278;  new  theory  of  translation,  274;  ver 
sions  of  Horace,  Homer,  Virgil,  and 
other  classical  texts,  274,  275  ;  female 
translators,  122,  275  ;  versions  of  Dante, 
Goethe,  and  other  mediaeval  and  modern 
poets,  276;  Oriental,  276;  this  work  a 
token  of  a  refined  and  critical  period, 
276;  the  early  translators,  Pitt,  Rowe, 
Cooke,  West,  and  Fawkes,  276 ;  ancient 
and  mediaeval  Latin  hymns,  277  ;  hymns 
from  the  German,  278 ;  Rossetti's  trans 
lations  from  the  Italian,  360,  from  the 
old  French,  364 ;  Morris's,  from  the 
Icelandic,  and  from  Virgil,  371. 

Trench,  Richard  Chenevix,  242,  278. 

Trilogies.  —  Lander's,  42 ;  Swinburne's,  407. 

Trollope,  Anthony,  189,  266. 


440 


INDEX. 


Troubadour  Period,    359 ;    and    see  Pre- 

Chaucerian  Verse,  etc. 
Tupper,  Martin  Farquhar,  256,  278. 
Turner,  Charles  (Tennyson),  270. 

UNCONVENTIONALISM,  333. 

Under  the  Microscope,  Swinburne's,  402  - 

404. 

Undertones,  Buchanan's,  348. 
Unities,  the  classical,  387. 

VARIAN,  MRS.  ("  Finola  "),  260. 

Variety,  Morris  deficient  in,  371. 

Vaughan,  28,  283. 

Venetian  Period,  its  taste  and  luxury,  368. 

Verbal  School,  76. 

Versatility,  Buchanan's,  355 ;  of  the  art- 
school,  368. 

Vers  de  Socicte,  restored  by  Praed,  238 ; 
"  Owen  Meredith's,"  268  ;  recent,  272  ; 
special  characteristics,  272,  273 ;  mark  of 
a  refined  period,  273. 

Verse,  as  a  form  of  speech,  299. 

Vicar  of  Wakcfield,  The,  52. 

Victoria,  accession  of  Her  Majesty,  234. 

Victorian  Period,  review  of  its  character 
and  progress  in  poetry,  i  -  32 ;  how  far 
it  illustrates  Taine's  theory,  1,2;  points 
of  variance  from  the  same,  1,2;  its  out 
set,  4  ;  successive  phases  and  representa 
tive  poets,  5,6;  likeness  to  the  Alexan 
drian  era,  6 ;  general  conditions,  6 ;  its 
scientific  iconoclasm,  7,  13,  14;  effort  of 
its  poets  to  avail  themselves  of  scientific 
progress,  8,  9,  19,  20,  21 ;  spirit  as  com 
pared  with  that  of  former  eras,  10-12, 
21,  22  ;  realistic  tendencies,  12,  13  ;  tran 
sitional  aspect,  14;.  idealism,  16,  17; 
psychical  phases,  17;  skepticism,  17,  18; 
both  transitional  and  creative,  21 ;  transi 
tional  in  thought  and  feeling,  22  ;  creative 
in  style  and  form,  22 ;  critical  and 
scholarly,  23;  restrictions  to  ideality: 
journalism,  23,  novel-writing,  23,  25,  over- 
refinement,  23,  over-restraint,  24,  high 
breeding,  24,  impassibility,  24 ;  not  a 


dramatic  period,  24,  25  ;  not  adventurous, 

25  ;  great  advance  in  poetry  as  an  art,  25, 

26  ;  its  effects  upon  the  minor  poets,  28  ; 
longing  for  novelty,  29,  31 ;  dilettante- 
ism,  29;  multitude  of  verse-makers,  29; 
leaders   and    representative    poets,    30, 
31 ;  the   end  already  indicated,   31,  32, 
342 ;  promise  for  the  future,  32  ;  method 
of,  34  ;  has  produced  the  greatest  female 
poet,  115;  specially  represented  by  Ten 
nyson,  154;  resemblance  to  Alexandrian 
Period,  1 59,  202  -  209  ;  its  peculiar  idyllic 
verse,  162  ;  and  see  200,  413. 

Virgil,  215,  375  ;  translations  of,  275. 

"  Virginius,"  296. 

Vision,  clouded  in  Mrs.   Browning,   127; 

clear,  in  Morris,  374. 
Vita  Nuova,  360. 

Vivia  Perpetua,  Mrs.  Adams's,  257. 
Vivisection,  Browning's  skill  in,  321,  337. 
Voice,  382,  383. 
Voltaire,  36,  273. 

WADE,  THOMAS,  256. 

Wagner,  Browning  compared  to,  341. 

Wallenstein,  41,  310. 

Waller,  Edmund,  272,  273. 

Waller,  John  Francis,  259. 

Warren,  John  Leicester,  283. 

Warton,  Thomas,  34,  40,  209. 

Warwickshire,  36. 

Watts.  Alaric,  237. 

Watts's  Hymns,  277. 

Waugh,  Edwin,  279. 

Webster,  Augusta,  275,  281. 

Webster,  John,  48,  105,  294. 

Wedded  Poets,  The  Brownings,  333. 

Wellington  Ode,  Tennyson's,  172. 

Wesley's  Hymns,  277. 

Westwood,  Thomas,  271. 

Whims  and  Oddities,  Hood's,  77. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  essay  on  "  The  Play 

of  the  Period,"  24. 

White  Rose  and  Red,  Buchanan's,  355. 
Whitman,  Walt,  402 ;  and  see  American 

Poets. 


INDEX. 


441 


Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  extract  from 
Miriam,  14  ;  and  see  American  Poets, 

Wilde,  Lady  ("  Speranza"),  260. 

Willis,  Nathaniel  Parker,  246. 

Wilson,  John,  235. 

Winkworth,  Caroline,  278. 

Wiseman,  Cardinal,  328. 

Wolf's  Homeric  theory,  175. 

Woman,  Tennyson's  view  in  The  Princess, 
167. 

Womanhood,  rendered  complete  by  mar 
riage  and  maternity,  133,  136,  140. 

Woolner,  Thomas,  270,  368. 

Word-painting,  174. 

Wordsworth,  Christopher,  278. 

Wordsworth,  William,  his  mission,  and  its 


close,  31,  34,  37 ;  compared  with  Landor, 
45  ;  teacher  of  Arnold,  96 ;  shaped  the 
mind  of  the  idyllic  school,  104,  105  ;  in 
fluence  on  Tennyson,  155;  blank-verse, 
161  ;  on  Science  and  Poetry,  193 ;  birth 
and  death,  235  ;  influence  on  the  minor 
poets,  241-248  ;  simplicity,  267  ;  quoted, 
298  ;  influence  on  Buchanan,  347  ;  and  see 
4,  15,  22,  56,  58,  154,  167,  180,  198,  199, 
203,  209,  237,  238,  240,  242,  265,  292, 303, 
320,348,349,396,400,412. 

Worsley,  Philip  Stanhope,  275. 

Wright,  Ichabod  Charles,  275. 

YOUNG,  361. 

Youth,  united  to  the  party  of  the  future,  358. 


THE    END. 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


RETURN     CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

TO—  ^      202  Main  Library 

LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

1  -month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling  642-3405 

6-month  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books  to  Circulation  Desk 

Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


rec'dcirc  APR1 

APR22 


arc.  JUN  0 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELE^ 
FORM  NO.  DD6,  60m,  12/80        BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


LD  21-100m-7,'33 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


